A Dozen Finches
A Dozen Finches
—Kay Ryan
A dozen finches
in unison
dip down,
tilt their wings,
swing up,
sink to their
chosen inch
of branch, and
settle, neat
and silent in
their arrival,
intent upon
that courtesy
that marks the
nearly weightless,
careful with
the imposition
of their half ounces.
Mark Forrester
1 Comment
Reader Comments (1)
Finish
—Kay Ryan
The grape and plum
might be said to
tarnish when ripe,
developing some
sort of light dust
on their finish
which the least
touch disrupts.
It is this that
the great Dutch
still lifes catch,
the brush as
much in love
with talc as
with polish.
Also with the
strange seeing-in
you notice when
a bruise mars
a fruit's surface.