Grosbeak at the window, turned to catch the light, her silhouette reveals the fragile stance & turn: the exquisite balance of style and form, the longing that lifts those hollow bones
Air instead of marrow! Only in dreams could I imagine it, the wings flicker and go, return and swell, dwell within that charging heart, letting go only when the days work is done & done.
I know what blooms first in these woods, the willow, the redbud & then sumac sings as the tree frogs ripen, touching but touching gently those swooping birdy shoulders
Trial by dragon fire, music by first light, stories by children – They are all just birds really, one canticle calls another, first a vision of flying, then flying, then the vision again
we can hop across the field after them, but is it really necessary ? Couldn’t we just put our wings on ?