One day

There may appear

A pale gray


Who floats

In the silent summer sun

Wings black-tipped, courrier

Of archaic worlds,

White petal of the ineffable,


To follow

Only the voice that the unlistening

Never hear,

Only the ever-haunting wind

Outside the walled gate,

To sail off to a high

Cliff still clad in coats

Of scraps of snow

A place of rushing wings

Flickering waters,

And sky-footed goats

Who leap

Where only the graceful go.


Written around 2001


Photo:  © Michael Miller | / Male northern harrier