Singular evening sound, swifts skim the lake
In winged susurration, feathers alarm. Twilight
Holds breath, draws long sigh. They turn to the
Shadows, where eyes dilate in terror at dipping
Day of magenta, soft amber, couriers of inky
Dark, stony oppression. They will be taken for
for what they are, for they are what they must.
Their hearts leap sideways at the swifts beating
The hour, the winged breath of lake and bird.
Clarion call of nature in the eternal sky cries
now or oblivion, to the far side of lake, forever.
They must cross the lake now to be what they will.
Louis Heath, Ph.D., Berkeley, 1969, is Emeritus Professor, Ashford University. Clinton, Iowa. He enjoys reading his poems at open mics. He often hikes along the Mississippi River, stopping to work on a poem he pulls from his back pocket, weather permitting. His books include Leaves of MapleLong Dark River CasinoRedbird Prof: Poems Of A Normal U.