Swifts are writing in the sky again,
flinging their strength, agility,
and fragility across the vast page.
I can’t read swift.
I imagine it’s about freedom, life, joy –
but when I listen deeply,
I hear urgency, hunger,
and the need to move on.
Look closely. Stay awhile.
What can be seen?
A black and silver striped fly
with dark red eyes
delicately walks on its bent legs –
walking and touching –
walk and touch. Swifts and flies.
What does this say?
What story does it tell about the sacred?
Mary Booker 08.07.2023