dharﾷma simﾷuﾷlaﾷtion

Morning Antlers

Redwinged blackbirds in the cattail pond—
today I kicked and flipped a wing 
in the sand and saw it was a sheared 
off flicker's. Yesterday's rain has left 

snow on Tesuque Peak, and the river 
will widen then dwindle. We step 
into a house and notice antlers mounted 
on the wall behind us; a ten-day-old child 

looks, nurses, and sleeps; his mother 
smiles but says she cries then cries 
as emptiness brims up and over. 
And as actions are rooted in feelings, 

I see how picking spinach in a field 
blossoms the picker, how a thoughtless act 
shears a wing. As we walk out 
to the car, the daylight is brighter 

than we knew. We do not believe 
flames shoot out of a cauldron of days 
but, looking at the horizon, see
flames leap and crown from tree to tree.

Arthur Sze

via Poem-A-Day by Poets.org: http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/345