Thursday, April 14, 2011


Meadowlarks at midnight

They call out at midnight; lovers,
Rivals, dreamers, a clear liquid light
In deep dark, they circle your sleep
Wingbeats of lost kin. Mornings
Find them carrying sunlight
To each fencepost, breastbones
Resonating memory.
All day they translate
A forgotten journey as if
Pinfeathers could sprout
From your eyelids
As if your fingers were
Small flames, lit wicks pricking
Deep-cave dark.

Ellen Marie Metrick

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