Birds in Shadow-Play
Brenda Farmer
Not a foot forward now!
Be as slow and silent as the sun that
throws us down
to half-again our length
over the darkened bridge boards, over
the blinking rush
of startled sense below
where two sun-rimmed falls of night
sweep the crumbs of midmorning
from the dun-feathered waifs
that scratch beyond our feet.
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