In the Pause of Wings

The thicket that the birds have left adjusts to songs of cold and deft

grace notes of snow ....


The drum-like blow

of wind and thin

as bow on string of violin,

the whine and twang of weather scraping

reed stems and boughs. Earth is reshaping

itself from nightengale and thrush

to the strict hush

of drifts. It draws

sharply, starkly from the pause

that closes in

where wings have been

another music - the ringing arc

of shadows, clouds, and early dark.

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