Whispers the Feather
WTF burning bright with pondering ink.
Graceful swans or blackbirds skedaddling
across the vast and empty space. The think
kerplunking into cavernous link.
The quill flying…descriptives diving
onto the writer’s canvas…surviving.
WTF, loud and clear, dear John…
the calligraphic rend of relationship…
The salutation is a haunting paragon.
Parisian-perfumed paper is withdrawn.
The ebony of the crow’s feather, fitting.
His abdominals are eternally splitting.
WTF, wet with mascara tears. Joy
at the indoctrination of its mirth,
bearing personalities of a girl and boy.
To induce was another cousin’s ploy -
joining in on the birth experience fun,
flexing his muscles, nearly triplets spun.
WTF, wading in pools of grace, prayerful rest
of folded hands - serenity glides over vellum.
The ink, so gentle, melodic, transfigured, blessed.
Saint’s swan lyrics - God’s glory expressed.
Whisper of angels, feathers like baby’s-breath.
Resurrected quill in pall of Christ’s death.
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