The moon drops one or two feathers into the field.
The dark wheat listens.
There they are, the moon’s young, trying
I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe
The wheat leans back toward its own darkness,
And I lean toward mine.
~James Wright from “Beginning” from Above the River: The Complete Poems and Selected Prose.
I am holding my breath today,
trying to be still
It is time to listen, watching.
Light spills iridescence:
its fragments dot the surface of this bleak earth,
illuminating the darkness.
I can reflect the Light or remain in the dark.
Having been chosen,
I can try my wings.