Two magpies warbling
in the sunny day
soar across my street,
my little hill street
beneath the mountain
and the great clear sky.
In all the gardens
lining my calm street,
trees and more trees reach
high and wide. There is
an ease, a leisure,
in their space, their spread.
The magpies, too, are
blithely unhurried
although gone too soon
with their liquid song,
guided by instinct
as their lives require.
They won’t go as far
as the mountain. That
is home to eagles.
Those, I love to watch
riding the currents
of the lofty winds.
But that’s memory:
an earlier street
the other mountain
and my love, who was
alive then, watching
beside me, smiling.
This town surrounded
by mountains and birds,
and everywhere trees,
delights me daily.
In the long nights, still,
I know myself blessed.
Sharing with Friday Writings #143 at Poets and Storytellers United.
Off prompt. Instead I'm pinching a recent form prompt from dVerse: the tableau poetry style. (The instructions say 5 beats per line, but examination reveals them to be not beats but syllables. Beats in a line of poetry are usually understood as the stressed syllables.)
