How Does the Goldfinch

How Does the Goldfinch


How can the goldfinch stand on thistle?
  They are so sharp,
Even through these garden gloves of leather
  Do they smart

He’s come to test that first purple bloom,
  A Queen’s crown, upon the head of a jagged weed
That looks to be built more of broken jade than plant,
  I need not touch it again to test

How do his toes between her razor tines so easy fit?
His feet show no bother, does he even mind it?
  Perhaps his thistle loves him, as every year

Their assignation reconvenes in July’s heavy weather,
Her barbs become floss for his tiny talons,
  An innocent coupling only Darwin could explain

And yes I know he’s a him, see the vibrant yellow coat he wears?
  It’s fluorescent as the highlighter pens the High School kids will use
To mark, like this one,
  Certain emphatic passages in poems

And his true mate is of a greener hue than he,
  Though not so green as the thistle, and
She will not come before his cue,
  Which is not forthcoming

For Goldfinches are particular, they wait before nesting,
For the thistle to be ripe feed for nestlings,
  Which is not yet

Having fore-played her diadem for seeds, he has decided,
Proverbially, to wait more time upon these green bananas,
  And with such in chatter to his true mate, he is off

  and I still wonder,

How does the goldfinch stand on thistle?
No secret he reveals now,
  In the sing-song parting of his whistle