Swallow,
I read
”Like Swallows,”
And forgetting
Word, image, construct,
Remembered how last summer,
Living bird,
You swooped and soared
All day at the hunt,
All the air full
Of the bright arcs
Of your tracings, skimmer,
Skater through summer,
Singing your frantic song
Up, up on the high wire.
Airborn, air feeds you;
Light rules your matings,
Comings, goings,
Only in death
The dark earth holds you.
Real bird, departed bird,
Maker of flight from frail
Bone and feather,
Own end,
Liver, dier,
Words undo you
Cage you in quotation marks.
”Like swallows.”
- June Sturrock