“A duck takes flight …”

 

THE POEM

We talk merely to sell the ironmongery
of ourselves. In the marshy pool
of everything we say,
we waste words
like wind that moves the sluggish rushes,
the reed-bed.
But suddenly
a duck takes flight
and its feathers gleam
with colours:
the poem.

Listen to the beating of wings, gaze at it,
your shotguns of silence
lowered, for now.

From Maps of Desire by Manuel Forcano, published by Arc.

4 thoughts on ““A duck takes flight …”

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