Tag: Sky
Swifts screeching
Swifts spread across
the sky and stop,
part starfish
brought by a retreating
surf, pigeons bolting
from a setting,
behind cloud.
Always, always,
the world is a
painting.
I listen to the tits
pleading from the nest
box, one bird out
and the other bird
in, a single note
between them.
Hawthorn flowers
are a tree lit
by snow in the
middle of May,
but is spring or
winter late?
I worry that the
old tree is dying,
that a part
of my youth might
not outlive me.
Happiness is the sound
of swifts screeching,
the migrants testing
the evening,
springโs ending
brought on
by the declining
surf of sky,
or sea?