Glint

Published in the The Lake Poetry Magazine 2016

I keep seeing 

smallish flocks 

of birds falling 

to the ground 

then rising. Ever 

so slightly 

like sheets

being lifted from 

dormant furniture, 

shaken 

in preparation 

for folding. I 

mark this 

as a kind of hope. 

A kit of pigeons 

hover/dropping 

along the sidewalk. A 

merle of red-shouldered 

blackbirds 

conducted toward 

the sun 

and back. In concert, in

a frenzied waltz 

across the neighbor's 

grass, even 

as the days drop 

colder. I count this 

as a kind of hope. Here 

in the land of my 

only-living, 

when I can see 

something 

I have never seen. 

That, for a moment, 

lifts the sheet, 

christens the air

with the sudden dust 

of wonder.

Author's Note

2015