At the earliest ending of winter,
In March, a scrawny cry from outside
Seemed like a sound in his mind.
He knew that he heard it,
A bird's cry, at daylight or before,
In the early March wind.
The sun was rising at six,
If he heard it, then it wasn’t just a sound in his mind, it was real, physical and outside of him.
Not Ideas About the Thing but the Thing Itself