Beyond the pane

before the indigo sky

high above lapping waves of blue

the sun’s rays meet 

their earthbound rival.

 

My restless eyes, 

within walls of glass,

tapping pencils on

creased paper from

too many eraser marks

seek respite.

 

Chance has that moment 

like fate’s gentle shove 

that I were to gaze out through the beyond

into the cloudless before 

And the magnificence of 

A bronze rush of wind

exists and vanishes in a 

few milliseconds. 

 

In such fractions

I catch 

A majestic wingspan of meters,

Black pools of eyes, focused

On the next, the after, the destination

Mottled brown plumage and dark feathers

Brightened to copper’s chestnut brown.

 

And let such images go,

called back to the reality of numbers and lines across

A limited, damaged, clean page.