Evening Flight

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Evening flight

If I could look down from above

on croplands bordered by tree fences, bare branched,

a shadow of dust like a flock of finches

behind the farmer’s slicing disc,

my car a small crawler on a thin groundway

of gray, dividing green and brown fields in two

If instead of the whispered mourning moon of

the saxophone from car speakers

I could only hear the muffled, distant nicker

of a horse from her open stall

If my thoughts were these dun birds, flying,

and all the great world below

tree hollows and rummages of berries

If in the coming winter

all became clear – leaves blown gone,

the globe sheeted white, dried grass heads

floating over her like candle flames above paraffin

If the world were seeds

and my thoughts birds upon them,

unlocking them, one by one

with my mind-heart’s strong, cleaving beak

If I could write from here, and break

the world in two like that

so it could germinate through me,

become a whole thing again,

I would.


~ Ruth M. 


Listen to a podcast of this poem here.