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All Soft Feathers and Flight Muscles

All Soft Feathers and Flight Muscles

A Poem by Robert Ronnow

In the intermediate zone between heaven and hell
opinions and complaints, after much moaning, may
come to be held in common.

The way a flock of chickadees
moves through the woods, cheerfully, 
each bird taking a turn on point.

All meaning must be found, here, in the middle zone, 
notwithstanding fears that rend and own us, 
of dying unknown.

A Spring day
the flycatcher broke its neck against our bay window
nothing changed.

I buried it, somewhat reverently, in a shallow grave.
No differently, really, than I would a man
who'd died suddenly.

Who'd left footprints in the snow
which became wild lily-of-the-valley, running pine
then snow again in time.

After long enmity
Sally hugs me, asks if I've been happy.
A moment in a year.

February, the light is long, more direct.
It's meaningless, repetitious
but held dear.

© 2014 Robert Ronnow

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Added on December 25, 2014
Last Updated on December 30, 2014
Tags: Bird, Bury, Cheerful, Dear, Dying, Fears, Feather, Flight, Footprint, Grave, Happy, Heaven, Hell, Hug, Light, Lily, Meaning, Middle, Moaning, Moment, Muscle, Neck, Snow, Soft, Spring, Time