From the
crisp midmorning sky
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| Art by Brandon Vernon bwvernon.blogspot.com |
in her voice
the sibilance of
brittle
leaves embracing in the street.
Her daring
winged lovers
skirt her
light in flirting turns;
she gentles
them
with
fingertips of amber glass,
of shadow.
Her love
lies in the contrast.
The birds
adore her whispers
and they
kiss her bare reflection
in the pools
that grow
by drops
upon the walk.
Exuberant,
they burst
into the air,
rising on
the flames of her attentions
whose brilliance
sets their songs ablaze.
From the
shaft of every feather
the chill of
evening breaks
and falls
away.
She smiles.
Their mirth
relieves the cold
that hangs
in blame behind her,
the distance
ever pressing,
the
melancholy in the dappled shade.
Give no
thought to night, they call;
Sing the
day.
The day is,
and so they revel
in the glory of the sun,
risking all
to gambol in her sight
(for even
wings may fail;
they only
know the leap).
The sun is!
call the birds.
Love her as
fools love!
Sing the
day!
1 comment:
Beautiful! Except for the feather part! Why do you think you have this obsession with feathers. I think it is a brain defect that you might want to check on. Perhaps there is a cure.
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