In the minute it took
to fetch the blue bowlfrom the kitchen
to pick the just-ripe
cherries, the blackbirds
had come. They picked
the branches clean, ascending
into their own blue bowl.
Lacking wings, I
look for meaning.
We were all hungry.
We were all fed.
Image credit: "The Red Deer Guardian," ink and wash on Canson paper, by Danielle Barlow.
A lovely poem, with a great end. Thank you for sharing.
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