awkward and brown, too cumbersome
for their mediocre size.
The flight of crows is
a heavy mood, a dark dream
reaching out for you at midnight.
The flight of hummingbirds
is too terse to see, a short green life
that never meets oldness.
The flight of swallows is
a smooth glissando of winged grace
awakening the ancient longing in your soul--
maybe like the beloved One
that left you behind in
his soaring arc.
The flight of autumn geese is
a chain of aching beauty, lifting you along
on their sky-path south.
The flight of memories
dances with all the bird-wings--
him being a swallow
and her, just another starling.
J. Pratt-Walter
4/14/2014
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