Fern Song

Had I the use of thought equivalent
To moist hallucination of a flute
I could be saying how
A certain music in my woods has driven
A certain female fern to tear
In panic from her good black root

But no transparency of clear intent
Assisting me.
I only guessed at what the singer meant
That hour I heard his intervals prolong
Beyond security of common song
Into a raving sweetness coming closer
While the lyric animal himself
Was still remote.
Since thrush may have a mile of music
In one inch of throat.