by Bryony Hart
The link transports me to where you perch
Above the swaying pines
That bend in the brisk Scottish wind.
Beneath your outstretched wings
Three chicks twitch and fidget,
Eager to taste the evening air
That blasts your earthy throne.
Sun-yellow eyes
Widen, alert to unthinkable threats.
Your span stretches further
Scooping them in and under,
Wind-worn feathers undulating with invisible life.
Yet they clumsily tumble out
Like the first potatoes of the season
Pulled from rich and fertile soil
And you purposefully gather them up,
Pushing their fluffy forms firmly back
Under and into your soft downy chest.
Squawking their disapproval,
Limbs and beaks peek,
Protruding bodies impatient to grasp at the life beyond.
They will gawkily fly from here
Above the untarnished tips of trees,
Skim the variegated horizon:
Unfurled wings will ride invisible thermals,
Which I strain my eyes to see,
Tip my screen back further
To furtively peer into your unending realm.
21 June 2020
Comments
Post a Comment
Comments with names are more likely to be published.