Primavera

Migrant Swifts


Skimming the feathertips of unmown grass,
half-butterfly, half-avian, the migrant swifts
reclaim the park, tracing parabolic arcs
in gravity-defying swoops, wrapping me in vivid
transitory loops like rings of Saturn.

By force of habit gravitating
to the low bank of the stream,
I contemplate the weeping figs that line
the shining Hill End reach,
and watch the master demonstrate Tai Ch'i,
unwinding energy: silk filament from a cocoon,
subtle, barely visible; the current that defines
the river, voice in water, god in matter…
 


* * *


Nests


Nests high in half-naked trees
are semi-camouflaged by buds
and umbels of first blossom
in the lilac haze of jacarandas.

Nestlings fledge their wings and tails
to brave the mysteries of space,
their parents anxious as they wait
to see love's first trajectories.



* * *


On the Cusp


I remember other springs,
when plovers fought tenaciously
as Titans for their hatchlings'
right to life and liberty.

Instead of swallows, my own
downy offspring gambolled
at my feet, staggering punch-drunk
at his unsteady grip on gravity.



* * *
This poem first appeared in the on-
line poetry journal STYLUS, edited
by Rosanna Licari:
http://www.styluspoetryjournal.com