Conventional I'M Not
My steady eyes observe a jay
lodge against the fissure of night
To glide at morn, its rebellious cruise
as plumy wings reach hills and skies, and orbs:
Somehow, I feel each turn of reels
identify with every jaunt where snowdrops’ plunge
into the tempo of avian trill...
a rhapsody
or wild dissent;
if only to see myself
through its audacious grit.
My hands wave now and laugh, I shall,
For jay’s distinctive mark
Reflects my will…this fowl chasing the rays
On its own term. Much like the jay, my heart
Treads unknown paths… conventional, I'm not.
8/15/2019
For Craig Cornish's Something I Am Not Contest
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