THE RETREAT

At the foot of the birch,

rain gathers the breeze

and birds arrive to speak -

falling silent only when

the church bell

sounds her turn.

Summer seduced us yesterday,

but this morning

when we woke -

the blackbird sighed

and sang of rain

in mourning, lilting tones.

Close I get, and closer yet,

to the blackbird's orange beak;

He holds his ground,

the counsel stays -

I, flightless, retreat.

© Shaista Tayabali, 2012
for dverse poets

images from dakini's bliss   

and dave stewart album