Thursday, February 02, 2012

poem : the call

the sky was born in anticipation of our people

the sky was born for us
fresh creation

I watch birds now, communicating through movement,
look now, a flock making circles in the courtyard,
landing then skittering off again.

across the evening sky, a smaller flock approaching
joining the larger one

one bird, perched in the high trees, calls out

the sky, flaked in orange and purple
the sky, a beacon for our approach.

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