This poem arrived last week. I’m just starting to understand why I needed it. Rumi said: “Poetry holds its meaning loosely, like a rock in a sling. We let fly. The rest is out of our control.” I think I’m also just starting to get what that means. Just fly. Just fly.
An eagle soars:
held aloft
by breadth of wing
and breath of wind
in effortless
grace and strength.
Oh, to have a faith
as lovely as the eagle’s flight.
Pure dance of
creator and created.
I’m afraid that my faith
more closely resembles
a duck’s flight:
What effort!
Ducks neither flit nor soar,
but move with purpose.
Wings squeak in their earnestness.
Is there anything poetic about
a duck in flight?
Sunlight catches
the underside
of rapidly flapping
wings
flashing white–
glittering reflections
of light
streaking across
the sky.
© J.L. Sanborn, 2015. All rights reserved.
Jessica Sanborn 