Bird Poems: 16/18
Nature, Bird

Silent Flight, Downy

© Timothy Black

Silent Flight

The hawk’s silent flight is a whispered
secret, a dangerous secret,
the one you told

under the swing set in elementary
school. The bird banks, a drawn bow,
the release of which

is the quiet of empty institution halls. The bird is a
flying mountain snowcap, gunmetal gray,
the gun you found in your father
s room.

Dihedral drops have the grace
of a smoking rifle shaft

wisp-blue in the rise
of its horizontal shift.

There is a male
at the feeder.
Looks like a Downy,
red cardinal hat,
black raccoon mask.
A long beak.
Not too long,
sharp. White breast. Black
spotted wings. He reminds me
with quick pecks at the suit

we skipped church due to
too many kids at my son’s
party and me
with a bad back.
There were party favors,
and cake baked
in a freezer.

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