Wildlife

Inexplicably, two pairs of Canada geese
choose to nest on the Pleasant Street bridge.
Topping short ornamental towers,
gargoyle like, they imprecate passersby,
lift slender tongues like stamens of black lilies,
like blades concealed in the wrong end
of an assassin's cane. I brave road rather
than sidewalk, cars over proximity
to each hard-eyed goose.

From depths of smogged water, a great fish rises,
long as my arm. At leisure, he samples air near the surface,
lingers almost in reach. Fins ripple, large as my palm,
furl like fabric in a gentle breeze.
He basks in his world's liquid wind.

We see walls, the expert said,
they see canyons.
We see an industrialized river,
they see home.

Every morning on my way to work,
barn swallows snip air, sheer
clean curves and precise angles,
work clean as a bright pair of scissors
in and out and under the bridge.
Their bodies are effortless, an ebullience,
iridescent and orange.


Comments

  1. This is a poem of one who notices. One who notices always. One who is attentive and patient. This is the poem of an artist.

    I love the assassin's cane! Especially in such proximity to the stamens of black lilies.

    ReplyDelete

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