You would be my loon
calling long past light,
my mourning dove, my
sweetest finch flashing
sun from black as night.
If my bird you were I’d
feed you nectar from my
palm and plant thick trees
for you to rest and nest until
I could transform my arms
and hands to feathered limbs—
our hearts remade as song.
Thank you to the editors of The Tishman Review for first publishing this poem.
This is a wing print left on our window just like we might leave hand smudges. While a bird clearly hit the window, it survived and flew away.
While Zoe snagged a version of this for her photoblog http://bonegirlpix.wordpress.com/2010/04/18/wing-print-left-on-window/
it warrants words as well. Besides I like the color in this version as it reminds me of a winged Sufi heart.
I’m not sure what led to the color, though I placed a music stand on the other side of the glass to better capture the print and the greens/reds were likely reflected from my side of the glass.
After rubbing pastel onto the paper, I erased the crow and branches.