It's another bird poem of course. This describes something I actually saw today--a large but immature bird, its wings undeveloped, covered with whitish fuzz but for the black spots around its head, apparently unhurt, and seeming to be looking for a way into a great old stone church as I happened by. And since all this took place on June 21, I'm calling it "Solstice."
Featherless half-grown stranger,
fallen from who knows where,
your webbed ungainly feet
flip-flapping on the granite stairs
of a downtown church, you hop
to the great oaken doors
as if expecting them to open--
not a chance. Mottled,
gawky, determined yet dazzled,
your madcap prancing
before the intransigent gates
seems cause enough to silence
even the traffic's roar.
I scan the lofty steeple,
then the placid sky beyond,
in search of a frantic mother.
Nothing. Then turning back
I see you wobble earnestly around the corner
as if to try the side entrance--
some dorky angel messenger
carrying your startling news
to a deserted church.
2 comments:
much to see in this.
the end really sends me a message.
Very nice, Bob.
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