By a window, on a dark and cloudy, somber day,
feeling sad, sensing I had somehow lost my way,
I heard a bird chirp-chirping, calling to its mate,
a voice of cheer that shattered a dead gray sky of slate.
I put my book aside to watch his wheeling up above,
scribing circles, then ellipses in grateful arcs of love.
He came, he went–such an ephemeral mystic sign,
much deeper than the précis I was reading line-by-line.

A bird flew by, I chanced to turn my head just in time
to catch a soaring shadow ascending the sublime.

April 14, 2008



All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
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