Pheasant In a Poppy Field
The ring-necked pheasant
captured in flight
on a coffee cup
never gets anywhere.
So it is with us.
Continually
the question -- the peaceful
insanity of elevator music.
Which poppy field
are we off to? Will we
shatter wings
or soar like Icarus II, sensing
wind and astonishment;
licking sun-cracked lips
till feathered shadows
paint sidewalks --
moreling the faint pink morning
while the hunter
cups us in gnarled hands
whispering
we are good.
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