Rachel Dacus The 2River View, 7.2 (Winter 2003)
Shim

Riddle

Thirty-three hundred wing beats a minute
—in figure eights from those jointed hands—
keep the ghostly wings
hovering between worlds.
To see them folded and the bird
a minuscule sphinx on a maple twig
was something like seeing time
suspended. Eternity’s long beat.
A clawed foot lifted
and pawed behind what must
have been an ear. Christmas trees whirling!
The throat feathers flashed red, green,
red—an indecisive stoplight
gone wild, freezing me,
then just
gone.

Shim
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