Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘bird’

One Rusty

 

 

 

stumbling through

the Moonlight Sonata

while outside the window

a twilight birdsong—

not one note out of place

Read Full Post »

 

 

 

From eggs

the size

of small

jelly beans

come these

two beaks

that peak

beyond the

edge—today

they save

me, these

two tiny

wingless things.

Even this

bruised heart

remembers how

to marvel.

Read Full Post »

Absence

 

 

The bluebirds return.

It never occurs to me to chastise them for leaving.

It’s what they do.

 

All day, I think

of their shallow wing beats,

their slow flight,

 

their bright blue fluttering,

and how easily, how instantly yesly

my heart rises up to meet them.

Read Full Post »

One Trick

 

 

seeing them on the branch

the bright yellow tanagers

gone until summer

Read Full Post »

 

 

 

driving past the great nests,

my mind fills in the empty air—

dozens of blue heron wings

Read Full Post »

 

 

 

surrounded by the most

lovely silence

the crow

Read Full Post »

 

 

 

bird in the cage

so intently singing

its sad, caged song

never noticing

the door long ago opened

Read Full Post »

 

 

Across the yard, below

the cliffs, and just beneath the evening’s

drift toward darkening, above

the river, through the trees,

there is, if you are lucky,

a slender moment charmed

by chance when, if you look up,

the great blue heron

will angle past on slanting wing

and make you question

everything.

 

Read Full Post »

One Sermon

 

 

 

beneath the meadowlark,

the fencepost turns pulpit—

praise, praise, praise

Read Full Post »

April 23

 

 

How do they do it,

the broad-tailed hummingbirds,

arriving at my window

the same day every year,

welcome as spring,

reliable as moon.

 

And what part of me

thrills in their predictability?

And what part says,

a tad too triumphantly,

See, here’s proof,

things come back.

 

I hear the small birds

before I see them,

their wingtips trilling,

I’ve read how the feathers

that make the sound wear down

from use. By midwinter,

 

you can barely hear

their bright hum at all until,

preparing to breed,

they grow new feathers again.

How do they do it,

grow feathers at just the right time?

 

I want to linger in the small

miracle of it, these ears still learning

how to hear and this heart still

astonished at the timing

of the world, how life just knows

when to return, when to grow.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

%d bloggers like this: