Swiftlets

 

In this liminal time

The river and sky, dimming,

Become illuminated.

All colors of the day

Gather, turning silhouettes

Inky-black.

Creatures, rising or retiring,

Grow silent.

Ascending from the river,

Swiftlets whirl upwards

To skim the sky.

I pray I might climb

This spiral staircase

To see Your face.

If not, I would be content

To grasp the tail feathers

Of the last bird in its flight

So I may touch

Your hem.

 

 

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