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.