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verse



From that, this


It is the end of June, morning’s brief cooling
After a week’s heat wave, a surprise breeze
On my face and vultures layered high over the distant landfill
Like telltale flies.

The ovenbird, who summers across the road
And I know only by voice, sings twice--
Concealed, but an intimate companion.
Voice from shadow, only yards from the sun-scorched stop sign.

Mired at the dizzying hub, I turn to watch
The horizon: center, periphery; vultures wheeling.
The sun only seems to arc through hours;
But arrivals and departures are real, not relative.

Something more than patience or faith stands still
And waits.
Waiting for the unexpected, caught off guard
By that which is known, certain.
Certain, but breathtaking when it comes.





Tim Kalbach
Columbia,SC
grebe@mindspring.com