← v9n2, Fall 2010
Poetry · Volume 9, Number 2

Pájaro Sagrado

,

.

Okay, see that

           tall white

distinctive tree?

Left of that

           tangled

clump?

Left of that

           straighter

trunk?

Trace it

           almost

to the top,

where three

           big branches

bear left.

Follow the lowest,

           veer off

on that little switch

double quick

           / hold

breath / sharpen

focus /There roosts

           resplendent

as promised

his tail of light,

           trail we might

trace

toward quiet.

           Flash of red

beneath his wing—

he preens,

           whole being

haloed.

A few steps

           higher, our eyes

take in

truer colors—

           blue-green

of clear sea

over thriving reefs.

           Perhaps he swallowed

the tiny avocado

he prefers. Maybe

           that's why

he's so still.

Perhaps, like us,

           he has nowhere

better to be.