Those lilies clothed in Solomon’s splendor
splotch with the leftover tufts
of field mice. For every hummingbird
darting at an orchid, every goldfinch
nibbling a quivering primrose stalk,
is an osprey disemboweling a flounder
or a golden eagle snapping
a badger’s neck midair. They do not
sow or heap seed heads in barns.
They swoop and pluck
in the moment, just as their meals
suddenly find themselves
sliding down a gullet. Of course I can’t
forget them, the ragged spirits of prey,
the grains and spores that never
had a chance to germinate. The dead
scamper and bloom in the shadow
of my wings, spreading and trailing
in a train of many colors, and oh,
the conversations we have.
-----Tania Runyan, NEA fellow, and poet
Scripture reference: Luke 12:22-31, 11th Sunday after Pentecost C
