Poem of the Week: Hiding, BZ Niditch

Hiding in July woods
with a pure tongue
of half-speech
to flee
parental storms
outlasting a double
sun of adolescence
and an ungrateful sky
of a nervous wait
on high slopes
by evergreen
staring at nests
of emerging thrush
from my own sanctuary
six miles to sea
from my home harbor
of suspended flight.