I.
Feathers follow me where I go
And show me the way
A confirmation from the other side of the veil that I’m on the right track
Wine is a thief
And steals from me moments
Yes of my life but more importantly from yours
Today on our walk
- My first day having given up wine
We saw so many feathers on the ground
II.
I know it’s time to quit
When my days look forward to the serum of anti-presence
And I wonder for hours whether I will
Pour the glass
Even when I knew your tiny eyes will watch
Learning from me the lie
That there's someplace else, just a click away from here
Better than having a drink of water
Or nothing at all
A bird's nature is gentle
And it does not wish for another moment
It will fly, build its nest, feed its young thinking of nothing else
Even an animal who would ravish it into oblivion
Rending it wing from wing
Cannot take from the bird its grace because it will forever be
innocent of sin
As you can plainly see
In the forgiveness heaving in its tiny bosom struggling for a wisp of
breath
Each threatening to be its last, mercifully
There is something heavenly in the way it lays
Surrounded by shredded plumage in a scattering of its own life
Not clinging or afraid but
Surrendering to death
In your deep way that babies have
Of not just looking but seeing
Softly lacking the ability to assess the meaning of it all
Not wondering about the mess feathers
You simply inhale the world as it is
Like a flower or your mama’s smile
Wiser than I to the age-old deception that
One can escape the present moment
You teach me about the birds
Suddenly there's nowhere else to go
III.
You don’t yet know that
These feathers are little omens to me from the ancestors
Who, in their wisdom,
Alternately heal and warn
Drawing them to me
And me to you
Would it be too much to tell you
That you are my reason?
To be clearly and
Catch these moments as they pass
Your hand swirling the air as you dance
Your silhouette hesitating akimbo in the doorframe
as you devour the landscape
If I am your ancestor
Let my life be pure
Protecting your wholeness
We can spend the evenings on the swing drinking in
the air and the sunset
We look for the crow who calls us
From the top of the swaying pine
And caw in answer
