Poetry

Pleasures

Two things I love, both simple and soul- 
rewarding. One: to welcome flame-colored words  
as they fly into my head like small birds,  
then settle, nesting on a journal page. The other  
pleasure: watching a song sparrow’s diligence 

last spring as she flew in and out of her  
bantam birdhouse through an orifice the size 
of a small child’s open mouth. Singing her sparrow  
song, she laid in the nest two minuscule, cream- 
freckled eggs. As they hatched, and fledged,

she fed her feathered birdlings faithfully. Later,  
she taught them the joy of flying free in the  
sun-blessed summer air. Two means of grace?  
First, my birdly gratitude for the fresh egg  
of a poem to lay in my journal nest. 

After the poem had hatched, watching its 
launch across the white sky of a printed page.  
Even later, another marvel: a reader opens  
the journal, reads the few, fleet words,  
and suddenly, hears birdsong.