Der Turmfalke Poem by Leslie Philibert
Der Turmfalke
The weight inside a dive; muscles work against the wind.
Motionless ignore the reduced; a quilt of cornfields,
bleached boxes of barns; holes full of gravel,
a mess of houses and lanes. So when
the heat rises and the earth scatters:
heed the hunter`s eyes, the blue irises,
the terrible beauty of the last seconds, sinking.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
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5/6/2024 7:12:54 AM # 1.0.0.1119
terrible beauty. Wonderful coining. thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.