ecclectica

Smudge

by Laurie Block

Without love how would I be here 
to see this day dying how would I notice 
the golden light anointing airborne
wings, the holy outcry of ice 
letting go and birds as they soar 
and descend, returning to touch 
the open water of ancestral lakes, the nests 
that hold their deep blue history and perfect 
oval future. Once again I am here, in time 
for the arrival of eagles and untold geese 
more ducks than I can name: Mallards and Teal
Bufflehead and Golden Eye, each one 
recognizing their home in creation, gifted
to read the opinion of the wind and call out
the complete story of up and down. Myself 
I don't need to know why they fly or who 
dictates the revolution of heaven and earth 
it's enough to see the season turn, to hear 
the hum of generation and witness them govern
the green shifting territory between water and sand. 
This country where I am always a guest, walking 
along the edge, welcomed and cleansed 
in the smudge of the setting sun.