John I. Blair
We sit together in the evening air
At my brotherís place,
Laughing and talking,
Lost in the present,
Hooked on each other.
Overhead small clouds scud,
Blown by the western wind
From Mexico to Mississippi,
Crosstracing iridescent cirrus,
Those crystals at the edge of space.
I idly watch as white birds
Flap firmly past,
Thinking they are pigeons,
Thinking they are common
(Though all life is rare).
Suddenly I catch a flash of buff,
Noting then the supple necks
And slender legs as more birds,
Dozens, scores, a hundred,
Splash the sky with intermittent splendor.
Cattle egrets, dressed in breeding plumes,
Are flocking to their hidden roost,
Somewhere yonder in the dusk,
And glorify our lives unbidden,
Reminding us to look for wonder.
©2004 John I. Blair
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