Embedded Files
For the Remaining Blackbirds
April daytime moon
persists
Old Speckled Hen
to line the stomach
& adjust the orchestration
of the blackbird solo
through which
the ice cream van
anticipates another picnic
for the bears
red kite/red fox
Egyptian goslings
breasting Wolvercote
waves for the first time
the blackbird shifts to sing
on the library roof
🐦⬛
the terrace in the sky
gives onto Venus
& the valley
all the way down to Spoleto
all the way up to Perugia
& also through
the star fields
of late May
🐦⬛
blackbird sleeping
in the bush
with one eye open
🐦⬛
on the terrace
young mimosa
registers a breeze
from Mount Subasio
each chair
occupied
by quiet night
the table free
a little moonlight
breathing
🐦⬛
all the caper plants
are in full flower
a blackbird fledgling
wobbles on the wire
🐦⬛
the angelus chimes
with the blackbird
who may be unaware
of the masterpiece
it keeps becoming
a small audience
stands under darkening
breeze each evening
part of a vast &
silent ovation
🐦⬛
the song is an astonishing
performance the soothing
stimulation of the cock-tail
tone with pitch leaps
stream-deep flutings
🐦⬛
every stanza
a couple of seconds
long & a clarinet
full of navy rum & lovage
though this one
features chilled
rosato from Le Marche
tinkered & refreshed modalities
🐦⬛
storm clouds potter
above the Sibillini
then transform their minds
because the song disperses
one long note
is questioning the rest
thereby completing them
a corresponding
scent two jasmine petals
turn & then let go
to touch down on the terrace
🐦⬛
stars appear
to prove
the song
has worked
on the whole
🐦⬛
in a pause
between verses
the blackbird
wonders
what became
of the fledglings
🐦⬛
blackbird watches
preparations
for the village
festa delle mestiere
from the comfort
of the lime tree
here she built
the perfect home
in seven days
they erect
three dark cages
on which to hang
photographs
of local tradesfolk
the blackbird
keeps her distance
🐦⬛
in the absence
of any plume-oil
or mealworm stalls
the blackbird opts
to stay aloof
immersed in dusk
& foliage
above the smell of cheese
& burnt sugar
through the cries
of children & small dogs
the blackbird sings
a line of Leopardi
🐦⬛
the blackbird
is looking out for Silvia
who emerges from the storeroom
with a huge tray
of seed & honey biscuits
now nearly cooled
blackbird cocks his head
at an unexpected angle
🐦⬛
here comes the lasagna
it's not called that
they call it vincisgrassi
hereabouts
no one cares if there's salad
we know there will be
chilled Verdicchio
🐦⬛
the broom is everywhere
la bella ginestra
all along the motorway
spilling from the central reservation
connecting everyone
to everywhere
the ghost of Leopardi
hands behind its crooked back
observes the vincisgrassi
the seed & honey biscuits
on the massive platters
in the small piazza
the ghost regards
the national & international news
nods sadly twice
then fades into the air
between the lime trees
turning back into
this birdsong
🐦⬛
blackbird alights in the fig tree
takes off again
thumps back down
this time without
alighting
stolid
she regards the world
in each direction
from the centre
& attends to her wings
🐦⬛
Jupiter & Venus
up behind the oak
getting closer
& then not
here comes Mars
nudging the moon
& Mercury
flicked by trees
& Rosso Cónero
🐦⬛
clouds are writing in the sky
the bird observes
with nonchalance
there is no need for scrolling
she feels a slight uneasiness
beneath the base of her left wing
it's time to roost
to beak about
to tune in to alignments
of the stars & note how
Venus dominates
Jupiter from here
🐦⬛
dewfall
& the memories of friends
lost in the years & spaces
between thoughts
growth-ring ghosts
throughout the trunk
& major branches
the aroma of rosemary
& Rosso Piceno
complements the fireflies
🐦⬛
the nectarines are ripening
the blackbird is listening
the valley holds them in its bowl
Venus approaches Jupiter
a firefly heading up
Via Porta Fontevecchia
the valley holds them all within its bowl
🐦⬛
I thought I'd visit
everywhere one day
but now
me & the blackbird
get the feeling
we will never
get to China
for example
or much beyond
the reach of
this one song
🐦⬛
at nine 0'clock
the bats come out
the kinky scraps
they ricochet off nothing
mouthing brittle insects
in & out & through
the trees
all the little legs & wings
so many to the pound
🐦⬛
blackbird finds its voice again
on the warm & tawny
roof-tiles of the welcoming
deconsecrated church
🐦⬛
blackbird on the flagpole
opposite the Trattoria
dei Cuccugnai
singing
tagliatelle
tagliatelle
🐦⬛
the blackbird on the Fiat
dealership
sings a song
of sixpence
four hungry chicks
& the electric
mint-green
Topolino
🐦⬛
blackbird by the butcher's
sings a song
of solidarity
with all the spatchcock
chickens
& the unnamed
corpses without
feathers
🐦⬛
the blackbird is joining in
with Lucio Dalla
it knows them all
& underneath
the valley resonates
to a Perugia train
it knows them all
🐦⬛
the poetry stylists
are back from the gym
& handing out advice
on how to manage all
the rhythms
tilts &
orchestrations
of the heart
🐦⬛
the blackbird sleeps
with her head turned
nestled in her feathers
🐦⬛
blackbird dreams with one eye open
Mercury on the western hill
beckons to the other side
a firefly drifting back along the lane
🐦⬛
the blackbird
threading notes
between the worlds
the music turns
& waves
reforming
patterns
in the
slightest
🐦⬛
Peter Hughes is a poet and visual artist based in Umbria, Italy. Recent publications include The Modulus of Rupture (Shearsman, 2023), Lent (Equipage 2024) and Drawn (Broken Sleep Books, 2025).
Copyright © 2026 by Peter Hughes, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.
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