Fields of vision

Swaying above the street, 
the copper-winged 
wren looks out. Her head 

thrumming the seconds 
between breeze-swaggers. Her 
feet the bent wire 

of ornamentation, clipped 
to an outlying limb. In song 
she adds to afternoon 

something of the music
scratching itself in lines
across my heart. She sings

as though alone, 
speaking to the sun, drawing 
in intentions of grass.

Feathering out an empire 
of things not meant for me. Here 
on the ground, I can see her

only smaller. Quantum sufficit,
the sum of elements, avian.
Parts in disconnection. My perspective 

that of under, looking up. Always 
looking up. To miss what
has come to gone

Author's Note

2016

Reviews

[SkinlessFrank]

I see the wren as symbolic of so many things of Nature, and those fleeting epiphanies that allow us, if only briefly to see a world that comforts us and draws us away from our insignificant concerns. It is a world of connection, something our souls yearn for, but that we have lost the keys to. This poem is melancholy song that should sing to us, if only we would listen. I would know you writing anywhere.

[Eilis]

The wren and birds in general do hold wide significance for me and culturally. Poets do seem to turn to birds to explore so many aspects of living. The connections we yearn for seem more and more elusive these days. I guess that’s maybe why I return to these themes. Thank you for reading and for that kind thought at the end. I am not always sure anymore if I have a voice of my own.

[Dave Brown]

so nicely done............

[Eilis]

Thanks, Dave. Appreciate you stopping by.