POEMS/ Changes
Changes
Hope is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul
—Emily Dickinson
I know that they will fly away
in autumn skies, those feathered
choristers, leaving emptiness
perched on naked boughs.
I feel wings beating
in my bones.
As the leaves fall, in treetops
stragglers search for food
to fatten for the long flight,
their wordless tunes un-tuned.
I am putting away my summer,
storing it in boxes.
They depart in a chill night sky
searching for southern warmth,
winged shadows across the moon’s
bright lantern.
This poem appears in Migrations (Antrim House, 2013)
Hope is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul
—Emily Dickinson
I know that they will fly away
in autumn skies, those feathered
choristers, leaving emptiness
perched on naked boughs.
I feel wings beating
in my bones.
As the leaves fall, in treetops
stragglers search for food
to fatten for the long flight,
their wordless tunes un-tuned.
I am putting away my summer,
storing it in boxes.
They depart in a chill night sky
searching for southern warmth,
winged shadows across the moon’s
bright lantern.
This poem appears in Migrations (Antrim House, 2013)