Bird Watching

I spotted you like an ornithologist
catching glimpse of rare bird fluttering through
the stand of jungle trees, lips light red markings,
moving so slowly was a wonder the words
stayed aloft—soft vowels and drawn-out consonants
that floated in the air: a pulsing, speckled warbler
darting into my mind. Each day I stood
in the same place. It could have rained or hurricaned,
I wouldn’t move.
So you must understand, that when
you finally drew near, against all rules and etiquette
of encounter with exotic creatures, I shouldn’t
have led you, bird-song and dancing mouth, deeper
into the forest toward a glade, away from the
chatter of chirps and tweets, and circled until you,
dizzy with my soars and dips and fast returns,
were defenseless against open wings that swooped down
and pressed a fevered kiss against red lips.

About the Author

Robert Rothman lives in Northern California, near extensive trails and open space, with the Pacific Ocean over the hill. His work has appeared in the Atlanta Review, The Alembic, Existere , the Meridian Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, Westview, Willow Review and over fifty other literary journals. To view more of their work click below.

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