Crosswind

A bird has fallen

from the sky,

it is I.

My ruffled wings

were clipped

by unseen hands.

I flutter helplessly

on muddy sand

and look up at the sky.

A blue so pale

mixes in with white.

I close my eyes.

An angry wave

washes my breast

where I struck stone.

It was an awesome plunge

I took,

into the hard, cold ground.

I lay so still now,

the sky turns grey,

then black.

When morning comes,

a gust of wind

sends a feather flying high.

Tuesday, February 7, 1995

Lexington Massachusetts