May 24, 2020

Chicken Scratch

Sometimes it doesn't work, this magic.
If it flies at all, ever – if I am not captive to serial

                                                               solitary

        illusion – still, it is grounded some days,
        just scratching the soil, a chicken
        scouring for grubs, dung beetles,
        earthworms, no soaring bird of prey
        scanning the pasture from a stately
        height in search of the errant mouse
        or the ill-placed killdeer clutch.

Perhaps it is just as well. This scratch work,
low and close, sometimes makes a solid magic,
   
                                                               yolk and all.