“In order to see birds it is necessary to become part of the silence.”~Robert Lynd
Far away his wise counsel laser keen
reveals the roots that constant drama screens.
I sit by lake and ground in dawn, attend
a patient great blue heron who can blend
as racing gray of this cloudscape conceals
the blue I’m always searching for. The wheel
of fortune turns. I bleed with each riposte
surrounded by the haunted, for their ghost
I love. The unmarked minefield of fresh grief
is marked by feathered messengers who see
my need. The spectacle earthward glides clear.
Mourning dove lands. The tears are ever near.
Featured image: This morning’s constantly changing cloudscape.