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.


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