by Sandy Green

Yes,

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).