Black- feathered sheaves that slap harsh air
with waving wings dart like spooks
through dismal, gray-spun skies, I watch
your silhouette with dainty flare
secreted on a dark-barked tree.
Your plumage melts in shadows deep
as night. Unsought and unobserved,
your glee may pour its mirthful cup
into the snow-drenched ground below,
or soar the heights of powdered dome,
cloud-barred from view. Abandonment
is yours. Envy is mine, whose wings
are bolted to earth’s stagnant clay.
Evelyn Coffey
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