Six Observations


I still recall just how the
raven’s wings looked,
spread to land on a
neighbor’s roof,
and the sense
evoked: reverence.


First, one brown
leaf then one black
bird fall to earth at
an autumnal angle.


The butterfly does not
seem to know direction
only to have a destination.


While the young one runs—
unrestrained and unsteady—
the older one heaves herself
forward with each hip.


Leaves rustle in a breeze that
too reflects the hour of sunset.


The moth drawn to
the lamp draws my
eye, and now I draw
you as I write tonight.


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