You hear the harsh cry of our local red-tailed hawk,
the hard honking of the resident geese,
but I know other sounds, a kind of murmuring,
a soft bleating,
when all is right with their worlds,
and our world,
even as the sun sets after a day of heartache,
the inexplicable,
a gut-twisting,
a damning day,
the horror, yes,
the horror--the dogwoods in full bloom,
turkeys sounding in the distance,
a flyover, two mallards.
Moonrise.
Lyman 2023
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