The Lark
Published in

The Lark

Winter Bird

Poetry

Photo by Christian Søgaard on Unsplash

The hen bird sits squatty on a branch
Feathers fluffed up against the snow
The late November light declines
Thin straggles of light, like Tibetan
Prayer flags, amid the skeletal trees
People hunch up, faces down, hurry
Into the electric cave they call home.
For me anything is better than this self
Deception. I am defamiliarized, glinting,
Illuminating inner correspondences, lonely
Preoccupations. Memories float to the surface
Holy…

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John E Marks

John E Marks

I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can