Night Flight
D. Nurkse
I made friends
with a dead sparrow
I found on the sidewalk,
rigid in the center
of a carved heart.
I groomed it scrupulously.
The only blood
was a fleck in the eye.
I could make the sleek wings
glide and twirl
despite a force
that held them shut.
As we were soaring
among those trees
scored with dates
my mother called.
with a dead sparrow
I found on the sidewalk,
rigid in the center
of a carved heart.
I groomed it scrupulously.
The only blood
was a fleck in the eye.
I could make the sleek wings
glide and twirl
despite a force
that held them shut.
As we were soaring
among those trees
scored with dates
my mother called.
No, no,
it isn’t me,
that breathless name
filling with yearning,
then rage, then yearning.
it isn’t me,
that breathless name
filling with yearning,
then rage, then yearning.
Lots more to read at http://www.kenyonreview.org/journal/summer-2004/selections/night-flight/?utm_source=Weekend+Reads+8%2F2%2F13&utm_campaign=W_R_8_2_13&utm_medium=email
D. NURKSE is the author of ten collections of poetry, most recently
A Night in Brooklyn (Knopf, 2012).
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