Monday, March 21, 2016

octet with swans & irrigation wheel lines

when we first walked out you could almost count them:
snake necks, those heraldic white wings miming flight—

then dormant grass vanished as the flock settled
into acres of snowdrift in mud season;

Thorn Creek swirled white gray that March overwhelmed
with snowmelt; we felt much the same, unknowing—

they slept just the one night amongst pipes & wheels:
it was all about a place to come back to

Jack Hayes
© 2016

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thanks for stopping by & sharing your thoughts. Please do note, however, that this blog no longer accepts anonymous comments. All comments are moderated. Thanks for your patience.