One With the Skull Still Soft


       The nets of God hang in every wild place
       to catch the unwary migrant, one with the skull
       still soft the journey barely started,
       another to fall on the ten thousandth mile,

      but when he holds one of those small terrified
      bodies like a jewel between his thumb and forefinger
      and unfans the wings to measure it, secretly admiring
      the bars he conceived to catch his own hungry eye
      and the little claw foot he rings with a coded band
      that numbers the feathers and weds him forever
      to the pulse in his palm that recalls his own heaving heart
      the day he flew into a net and hung there thirsting
      in the woods where only a wasp moved, flicking cobalt wings--

       when he lets go, when he flings what he has marked
       into emptiness, he follows the speck with his eye
       to South America and farther, to white unmapped fields
       known intimately in the mind of one who flies.

                                       by Suzanne Clark Rhodes

Size 24" x 24"
Medium mixed media
Price SOLD

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