Saphire, emerald, amethyst of
the magpie's feathers when
sunshine snags them. Otherwise
—as now in clouded, ordinary
light—plain black and white, the
head and neck pure soot or onyx.
These colours keep our eyes
alive, as if any short-lived,
intermittent pact between our
gaze and their flashfire amulets
might be near the heart of some
unspoken matter. Likewise, you
may catch the hidden redbreast's
small sweet voice, as if the
scarlet soul of the fuchsia were
singing in silence to itself, letting
itself be heard.
(for Sister Ruth Dowd)
Enjoyed this poem at Verse Daily this morning - Wonderful piece. The sound of the words read aloud shows the real life of this poem.