#7
Little Spirit Bird
A little spirit bird
had once landed in a tree,
its branches waving in the wind.
And the little spirit bird
quiet watched me.
Her eyes were black, tracing my movements,
her feathers ruffled.
What else have you seen, little spirit bird?
Where will you go when your wings
catch air and you flit away?
Little spirit bird, would you let yourself fall?
Into this pool of mud and ugly stick,
broken twigs from other birds’ hasty flight.
The sun glistens in your black coat;
your silence shattered with a sigh.
Dear little spirit bird,
you spread wings of gossamer silk,
and the wind takes you home.