Redwinged blackbirds in the cattail pond— today I kicked and flipped a wing in the sand and saw it was a sheared off flicker's. Yesterday's rain has left snow on Tesuque Peak, and the river will widen then dwindle. We step into a house and notice antlers mounted on the wall behind us; a ten-day-old child looks, nurses, and sleeps; his mother smiles but says she cries then cries as emptiness brims up and over. And as actions are rooted in feelings, I see how picking spinach in a field blossoms the picker, how a thoughtless act shears a wing. As we walk out to the car, the daylight is brighter than we knew. We do not believe flames shoot out of a cauldron of days but, looking at the horizon, see flames leap and crown from tree to tree.
Copyright © 2012 by Arthur Sze. Used with permission of the author.