Month: July 2019

fledgling

when you leave
the sun will bake
your newly hatched feet
the world, unbroken
will beckon
each perch, a promise
as you fledge into the living air
eyes shining, head cocked
curious

we’ll watch, keeping still
as the sweltering day
wary of the endlessness
that stretches above and below
our nest, empty at the center
of that old pear tree
the place where safety
comprised the circumference
of your understanding

until now

with possibilities expanding
you’ll stretch mottled feathers
and glide
to where the seed waits
it will feel like pebbles
shifting under your small weight
satiated, you’ll fly again
into the open air, your exit
the path up and out

autumn waits
then winter
beyond this heat, beckoning
an ancient part of your soul
driving you to the place
where the palm trees grow
and the water shines
like sapphire







the eagle and the heron

the heron glides
on silent wings
outstretched—
curtains of dusky blue
that gather the air
like an indrawn breath
and, exhaling
with one vast thrust
of endless feathers,
she rides the wild updraft
long neck tucked, S-shaped
above a narrow breast
landing, stalking
the shallow outskirts
of the river’s bounty
with focused stealth
waiting
always waiting

the eagle, vigilant
sharp-eyed, predatory
all talons and beak
her jagged edges, perched
atop the places that divide
beginnings and endings
the thresholds—
where water meets land
earth meets sky
until the hunt;
a blur of chestnut feathers
she’s crowned
head and tail
in white, grasping
with golden feet
each squirming fish
a piece of glistening fruit






Barely Lucid

I remember the weightlessness
of the dream, the shift of perspective
how the air, charged with light,
shone between layers of reality
illuminating the darkness
of my skull

That almost-reality
existed in a shuttered corner
of my processing brain
running subroutines
in the basement
of my consciousness

in sleep, it was right in front of me
so much more than a mirage
but the images, false, illusory
disintegrated like spun sugar
in the dull light of morning



Smoke and Shadow

I wanted to own time
as if I had some inherent right to it
to youth and hope and excess
because eternity feels real
when you’re young

I thought I was different
somehow impervious
to the inevitability of living,
of life

It was pure arrogance
or stupidity
I was naive

Now, the days are inappropriate
each one an affront
that I should keep living
this aging, useless body
dreams, unrealized
potential turned
to smoke and shadow

a reminder to look up

juvenile bald eagle — photo my own

I was too focused on the trail
and, studying the path,
nearly walked past
the eagle perched on a low branch
(as much a sentinel as any soldier)
not ten feet away, watching me

I wonder how much I’ve missed
by forgetting to look up
but when I look for birds 
I look with my ears
I listen for their call 
and I watch for shadows
(raptors cast big ones )
I’m always looking down

sometimes, when the air is still 
and I’m sitting on a bench 
watching the river 
the ospreys emerge
flying out from stick nests
to fish for their breakfast

birds are opportunistic 
even when we’ve stolen all the trees
they find a way to nest
and fly and feed 
sometimes our encroachment helps
like the Carolina wrens
that built a home
inside my dilapidated shed 
(we took the doors off
so we could get the bikes out)

there’s an entire world up there
where the crows perch 
and the chimney swifts chitter 
unable to perch
circling in endless loops
airborne, forever
 
I’m not saying I’m jealous
birds have a hard life, a short life
but flying must make up
for all that hardship, 
right?