Thursday, May 2, 2013

Tuesday Poem: previously published by Fox Chase Review in 2010

                                                                    Ghost Flock by Alasdair Wallace

Heart of Washington Square 

When the birds fall
out of the trees behind you,
light as a cloud, when they lift in an arc,
wheel and bank right over the man you love,
as he stubbornly sits on a bench in the sun,
reading his book, while you hunch on another one
in the shade, preferring to take
the dimmer view, until those tiny wings
take flight, and your spirits rise up when they do,
as you will soon, conceding to a clearly cosmic
connection, the sparrows, their sheer velocity,
like Cupid’s arrows shot between you,
affirming that incongruous as the two of you
may be: red dwarf, white giant, ashiver, ablaze,
written by light, gently bathed in ink,
you’re part  of the same constellation, linked.

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