The blackbird's
yellow beak is rearranging
the contours of my back-lawn
scavenging for worms, gathering moss
preparing for Spring and a new cycle.
I do not yearn for nest-making
but long instead to shed
to stand- still
and let- fall.
I have gathered too many twigs
and spider-webs and caterpillar-silks
I have lined my nest
with too many feathers.
Let the cuckoo do what he does best
and usurp my leaf-woven-haven
And let me, thus emptied, soar
wing-span sky-spread.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2018
No comments:
Post a Comment