High in the canopy,

feasting, then


falling. A controlled

drop in flight


to a lower branch.

I watched


without understanding

with awe.


I’ve been shut in

those houses

too or blind

at work,

not noticing.


All the inattention

when a miracle

took place nearby


and could save us.

Do I really mean

save? You must


believe me—the feasting

on some tree fruit

high up—and the


bird?—I think

either a flycatcher

or a waxwing.


Such moves, so much

cascading, in

confidence, such lifting

of the beak to sing.


Yes, I meant save.



Patricia Clark is the author of five books of poetry, most recently The Canopy. New poems are forthcoming (or have appeared) in Plume, North American Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, and elsewhere. She teaches in Michigan at Grand Valley State University.

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