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From the Abbeville Institute:
High circling hawk was clue:
This is your home
My kinsman true.
Allspice bush in cedared yard
Gave evidences too
Green would and blue,
The red-tail, far too far to hear
Its brittle cry
(But at my hone outside the window high,
Persimmon perched, we’re eye to eye–
Same hawk, same cry.)
I leave the hawk behind
And walk the porch to door unscreened.
The whitewashed walls glow with their inner light,
The khaki, tan, and white,
The well-washed cotton green,
The woods a screen
Of all we’ve left behind.
It is your footprint that I trace–
House and hawk and light and door unscreened
The trabiated transom same
As at y…
