Flight Poem By Neal Bowers

Flight Poem By Neal Bowers

The river slops under the bridge,
rubs the muddy turn of the bank
and glistens in sunlight,
straightaway and brilliant as a landing strip.
Call it a kind of redemption,

the way the simple light purifies,
though any dipped cup comes back so murky
no one could gag it down—
a failure of vision, let’s say,

too much common sense—
the rim just touching the lips.
A quick gulp would reveal
what the heron knows.
At such a thought,

the stomach jumps like a fish;
but already the sun has shifted,
and whatever winged thing lingered there
has flown.

Neal Bowers
first published in Poetry, vol. CLXXII, no. 2, May 1998
also from Out of the South

Flight Poem By Neal Bowers

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