Saturday, May 5, 2012

black bird

I dreamt of a small bird last night.

A miniature, darting black bird
Weaving throughout my peripheral,
Jetting in front of my face
and in between my fingers.

I tried to grab at it
Each time missing by an inch.
Or a half
Or a millimeter
It’s all the same.

If I had caught it
I would have either
Stroked its tiny neck
With the pad of my thumb
Or rung it quickly and
Waited for the quiet crack of bones.

It annoyed me
With its unattainable flirting.
And attracted me
With its stylish wings.

So I felt justified
In my desire
To end the disruption;
by the bubbling sputter of feelings
It produced.

I never caught it.

It just kept zigzagging
And never made up it’s mind.