Watching the bird that does not wish to be seen,
it kisses the water’s surface in strange charade —
three-word movie title, something about nature,
but I’m having none of it.
Lay your eggs before me,
I remain loyal to my pledge,
outsider to this dimpled oblivion,
gathering up concentric ripples,
distributing them purposefully
in random and ordinary ways.
I yell at the bees in Latin,
flush the locusts from the weeds,
curse the mighty force controlling us.
The light comes on suddenly,
consciousness floating on its back,
betrayed by stalking its beauty,
diminutive and real,
a moment captured even now,
genuflecting and genuine,
waiting ever so quietly
for evolution’s slow change.
Gary Glauber is a poet, fiction writer, and teacher. His works have received multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominations. He champions the underdog to the melodic rhythms of obscure power pop. His two collections, Small Consolations (Aldrich Press) and Worth the Candle (Five Oaks Press) and a chapbook Memory Marries Desire (Finishing Line Press) are available through the publishers as well as through Amazon.