It seems I'm bringing in the "I" of this poem a little late.
PAINT THE WIND
Snowy plovers
tiny sparks
move as one
dip, flare
catch the air
sweep, turn
spread the day
across the bay
spiral to the sun
and back again
soft as dawn
beige, brown
silver-sided;
etch a fleeting shadow
beyond the evening sky
move without guide
and yet
perfect formation
synchronized
in joyous flight.
What spirit
draws the sweep
paints the wind
carries me
beyond my dreams?
-Dewell H. Byrd
PAINT THE WIND
Snowy plovers
tiny sparks
move as one
dip, flare
catch the air
sweep, turn
spread the day
across the bay
spiral to the sun
and back again
soft as dawn
beige, brown
silver-sided;
etch a fleeting shadow
beyond the evening sky
move without guide
and yet
perfect formation
synchronized
in joyous flight.
What spirit
draws the sweep
paints the wind
carries me
beyond my dreams?
-Dewell H. Byrd