On Setting Free That Feeling
Never-Ending Birds
That's us pointing to the clouds. Those are clouds
of birds, now we see, one whole cloud of birds.
.
There we are pointing out the car windows.
October. Gray-blue-white olio of birds
Never-ending birds, you called the first time --
years we say it, the three of us, any
.
two of us, one of those just endearments.
Apt clarities. Kiss on the lips of hope.
.
I have another house. Now you have two.
That's us pointing with our delible whorls
into the faraway, the trueborn blue-
white unfeathering cloud of another year.
.
Another sheet of their never ending.
There's your mother wetting back your wild curl.
I'm your father. That's us three, pointing up.
Dear girl. They will not -- it's we who do -- end.
-From Never Ending Birds
by David Baker
Buy it on Amazon |
Feathers and Flying Things #2 |
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