~ Delta Poetry Review ~

Only a Crow

Between fading moon
and rising sun
a space of absolute silence.

Only a crow
interrupts.
Empty branches stretch

outward, upward,
straggling these orbs,
the last twigs

before infinity.
There is no wind.
Nothing moves.

Sound travels so far –
takes me with it,
takes me with it.

The Nuthatch

works its way headfirst
down the trunk,
busy, unperturbed.

I sense this prophecy
with subdued
envy, yet something

like joy. The ability
to manage life,
even upside-down

embarrasses my feeble
attempts to remain
right-side up.

Morning

Morning is a dream
all its own

when light first appears
when birds first sing
when a breeze first stirs.

You enter false darkness,
a traveler who could never fathom
the timing of your life.

You can only receive it anew,
again, like any other morning

when in the dawning breeze,
you hear the birds
and decide to dance
the silent symphony
that makes you

that turns the world
without notice,
stirring longings
that cannot be ignored.

Leaves of grass,
in any season, yellow or green,
bend with the slightest intention.