Wandering Bird

Sometimes,
walking along the river,
there is a quiet lifting,
as if the day
we’re happening here
and elsewhere
and I was a visitor in both worlds.

Cormorants still hunt
from the driftwood snag in mid stream.
The sky road still fills and empties with planes
from the nearby airport,
and cars still trundle along below the levy
like weary office workers
circling the habitats
of their own slow river of days.

Yet here, in this moment,
is a kindness,
a belonging,
a wonderment,
like a glimpse of a great wandering bird,
blue green and iridescent,
strayed from its normal flyway,
drawn down to the sound
of all of our heartbeats,
and looking for others
who are lost in the own way too.

2 responses to “Wandering Bird

  1. A story in a moment; that’s what makes many poems work. In the background, something much larger than the moment gives it foundation and continuity.

    Like

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