by Sandy Green
drifts from a cloud
settles on a pool of hope
where a cardinal
(rocking like a hinge)
dips her wings
She plucks the word
clinging to the surface and
glides to a new nest
hidden in the camellia shrub
cautious not to clip the buds
careful
where her shadow falls.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sandy Green writes from her home in Virginia, USA. Her work has been nominated for Best of the Net and appeared in Bitter Oleander, Blue Nib, Neologism, The Lake, and Qwerty, as well as in chapbooks, Pacing the Moon (Flutter Press, 2009) and Lot for Sale. No Pigs (BatCat Press, 2019).