A Poem: Waiting for the Birds

I can sit like a stone thing.
Neutral, still,
against which the wind moves.

Can wait until everything opening
appears underfoot,
or through the bows of outspread branches.

Or I can walk,
not quite expectant,
but ready anyway.

And not trying too hard to discern directions.
But seeing what comes
of corners and thresholds.

Yes, I can walk like a figure moving,
beckoned forward
by the darting piwakawaka.

Can walk until everything fleeting is
distinguished clearly,
captured in the vision.

Like this rush of soaring sea-birds,
that at my steps have flocked
and risen.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
July 2021

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