Beneath the blackbird
a poem by Harley Bell
I speak to the sky
about the things
that pass through
my thoughts.
Even if I only receive
the silent passage
of clouds across the blue,
it is enough.
I am thinking
about patience
and kindness
and the way
even trees will bend
as if in prayer
towards the sunlight.
Flowers will open
and close
before I settle
into the necessary
slowness
of
this
conversation.
A blackbird rustles
in the leaves,
searching
for sustenance
beneath the dirt.
It is, perhaps,
a passing thought
but I am seeking
something similar
to stillness
like the way
wind
rests
in the air
my thoughts disappear
with the blackbird
and I do not think
to catch them.
It is enough.