The Bright Word

Some words, some narratives 
like birds with bright wing feathers, swoop 
into the mind, provocative, daring.

Just now, and I mean, two minutes ago, 
and just like that! a plume arrowed into my head, 
from the daily paper.

A mental tingle, a wing of narrative, 
flickered, urgent enough to stir my fingers 
into word work,

Then, gone. Simply not there—Vanished, 
that flaming word—that feather never netted, 
barely noted.

Kaleidoscopic, the feathers flashed briefly 
in a wideness of air, exiting with barely a shimmer, 
blown away, wind-lost.