Saturday, November 29, 2014

Forest Bird

© Steve King
All rights reserved

A forest bird lost its way
from the cool shade of its wood,
skimming across my clearing,
it glided in bright vision,
at the window where I stood—
where it saw itself to be,
finding itself, finally.

And so, inevitable:
that moment of gathered life
when unwinding fates are met,
and all futures come to pass:
griefs and gladness and regret.

Then, nothing:  it lay so still,
small beneath the window glass.
I watched from shadow within,
quiet beauty pictured so:
gone the song and stilled the flight,
as all beauty we may know;
muted accents clinging fast
to that vestige of delight.

Sweet vestige that must outlast
forest birds lost in the light.

A new poem for the Poetry Pantry