Thursday, April 15, 2010

Rail Bird

For Phoebe, Megan and namless others
who passed to soon, too silent.

She nests among the reeds
waiting for dusk
to cry her song.

Wind taunts the water
with wrinkling. Nothing
goes smoothly
at Spring's arrival.

The air is still cold,
raw and striving
to keep its land
from a sudden thaw,
a strange warmth.

The rail bird
stays hidden with hints
of her cedar wings
showing through a hair shirt
of grass.

Secretive, she fears
the open field
where ruins of a stone
wall allow intruders
to pass, the girl
from the farmhouse
looking for vines

to hand wrap a wreath,
a Trinity Knot
for her best friend
who died -- and maybe
canvass the marsh
for another loner, her sister's
winged shadow.

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