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Fluency
by Amelia Klein
Flies spin in hedges filled
with sun. Swans
ride among the ducks,
heads green. And
to each living thing
its disturbance, its
wake, soft issue of
what it
was. More
than this is not
required. Up, up
the homing pigeons
make broad circles
flicking time,
time falls in
light’s form from
their wings. Still
some days thought
seems the silk spun of
the thing, gapless in
its affinities. Still
the backyard alanthus
replaced with
the memory of
it. Shadows and kudzu
catch on it.
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