I hear your distant rumblings.
Your grumblings do not impress.
I can shut the windows
and let your storm pass by.
I hear your distant rumblings.
Your grumblings do not impress.
I can shut the windows
and let your storm pass by.
Too much to do
Too little time
Do you feel
like this, too?
Something in the air
is singing my name.
.
I can not tell if it
is a melody from yesterday.
.
I hope such harmony
is from tomorrow.
Glance
Flash
Crash
Trance
Romance
Lasts
Ghostly calls across the lake
loons declaiming poetry
its harmonic tones drowned
by strident laughter
in the cabin next door
from a less musical loon.
.
On the right of the photo, the two small white dots on the water are the loons.
What I learned about you:
What I learned about us:
I remember you: new
baby powder smell
tiny ears like velvet
cries like a lamb
and here is your
baby daughter
in my arms.
I wait
in the hollow place
for you
You happily celebrate
the concavities
but appreciate
the complexities
of the convexities.
In hollow places
grace erases traces
of solemnity and
embraces totality,
while
I wait
for you.
Here,
listening to the loons,
with you,
is a precious moment
of forever.
.
Are you breathing?
Are you beating?
Are you bleeding?
Are you broken?
.
Breathless
Heart pounding
Blood surging
In pieces
.
Do they
hospitalize
for
Love?

Shawn Bird is an author, poet, and educator in the beautiful Shuswap region of British Columbia, Canada. She is a proud member of Rotary.
