by Maia Persche
Under the purple dogwood leaves
close to the prairie grasses
sinking down.
A thin note, an icicle
falling into snow.
A breeze through dry cattails.
White-throated sparrow,
quiet traveler.
Watching the world with dark eyes
you have the night sky in your feathers.
There’s a star map above us
waiting to grow bright again.
There’s a constellation of landbirds around us
waiting to rise up
from the tangled branches.
