Women and Bird in The Moonlight        (Femmes, oiseau au clair de lune, Joan Miró, 1949)     Before they touch their torches        to the rapeseed, the night is clear                 enough to see the black sickle left by a near-full moon. The woman stands         in her apron with a pocket of rice, a bird                 in her olive tree. She can’t sleep through the recent silence. The bird         swaps limbs, sings. There are no                 night birds in Cataluña. Smoke rises from the burning fields. There are no whole men         in the village, orange light muffles the birdsong,                 the Dog Star. She throws the last of the rice beneath the tree, but the bird is waiting         for insects driven inland by the fire.