Feather

I'm holding a hawk feather as we walk,
and it's a lively thing,
kiting upward each time I swing my hand,
and becoming a divining rod with every breeze,
twisting and pulled to the upper air.
The dog doesn't care,
but clearly flight is in my grasp.

August 10 2017

Brokedown Palace

It isn't that the thunder lets her in,
but while I'm puttering inside,
waiting till the storm decides
to mutter off to sea,
I find a farewell song she loved
and don't press next. I let it play,
so that as I put the plates away
I can remember.

August 10 2017