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The Daredevil Christopher Wright



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The Daredevil Christopher Wright

The Birds of the Air and the Flowers of the Field

Oh, bird in flight, your burden is light.
With cellophane bones and pin black eyes.
You trust in the skies, you trust in the breeze,
you trust in the branch, trust in the leaves.
trust in the leaves.
In the leaves.
In the leaves.

Oh wildflower no trembling nor terror.
Blooming today then thrown in the fire.
Appropriately attired, these bleeding hearts tracking the sun from dawn to set.
From dawn to set.
Dawn to set.
Dawn to set.

It's in the nature of things,
seen and unseen,
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the posture of the creature for the human being.

It's parabolically precise and therefore incomplete.
Or maybe not but abstract at the very least.
Like what about, what about, what about?
What about, what about, what about?
What about, what about, what about?

Oh, father deer, what do you fear?
And are you aware the hunter is near?
Who shall mourn, when you collapse in the snow,
And lay down your head, lay down your horn?
Lay down your horn?
Down your horn?
Down your horn?