Starlings in Winter
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can't imagine
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard, I want
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.
Hey Irene :) Sure it will be my pleasure :) Thank you for stopping by! Your blog sounds lovely!
ReplyDeleteThe same with me. Keep warm. Perhaps you will find these advices interesting.
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