June Journal: Wednesday, June 5, 2013

by Donald Mager

Humping along in tandem sleek black pairs,
six Starlings glean the fresh mown lawn.  They
harvest  ants and seeds.  Dusk-lit grass glows
in jade shadows.  Onyx feathers gleam.
Bobbing beaks flash yellow stabs and pricks
like toy machines.  In a parallel
with the Starlings’ now, with different laws
another now presides.  Ankle-high
moist tang of hay teems with conclaves of
mosquitoes gathering to ply their
trade in thirst and blood.   They too know how
best to stab and prick.  Their now hungers
too. Each shape of now is as supple
as who observes—what stands where—and why.