The meadowlark inside her throat, so long
She offers yellow to a morning wind
A jester-warble while the sun begins
Its rise above the sound of barking dogs
Her beak drawn back, irreverent grin she’ll stalk
The smallest chuckle hidden in the grass
Like insects wet from sprinklers’ morning laps
She’ll gargle dawn, go shameless in her walk
Why does she laugh when mourning dove will cry?
A milk-toned coo released from slender flute
Toward epiphany such bruises held
No golden bellow here, their pantomime
Like one and one make something out of two
This morning’s songs will mingle in the field
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3 comments:
very nice, shari. i love the way it flows and is succinct.
one of these days i will begin working on compiling some things together.
i like this one so much. it felt like a walk through the foothills of utah.
Like Rod said, very nice Shari. Its lovely
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