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The Linnet's Wings

Seeding the Moon by Ronald E. Shields

I watch the birds pick at seeds I spread on the rocky soil,

so certain, precise, never chipping a beak.



Watching my child, all hands, feet, ungainly head,

I am taken by the imprecision,

the lack of focus on where the beak should strike.

 

I have spent my life among the rocks

preparing them, arranging them, seeding them.

 

Then my awkward child raises his uncertain gaze,

sees the moon

full of dust and reflections.


The Linnets Wings