BIRDS, POEM BY PETER RUELLAN

After playing in the morning waters
They will escort us to the sunshine
And to her red blushing image
The birds feel the movement
Of the wind and it's phase
An unseen hand lifts them
Like a palm branch, sparkling
Charcoal black, shouldering muscle and sinew
Scratching towards some objective
Their feathers arching forward
Like a battalion off to war
Slippery skin melts like honey
Shines like licorice in the bright sunlight
In folds of blue do the skies unfold
Towards marshes of green
And piney forests
They dig for pleasure at their wing tips
Breaking the crystal cover of the lake
Cut the silk of time like a samurai
Rebellious in their nature;
Their flight emerges over rivers and deltas
Where the orient dies and tall steppes flatten
Sometimes looking for a raft to land on
PETER RUELLAN 2012