I can sit like a stone thing.
against which the wind moves.
Can wait until everything opening
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,
by the darting piwakawaka.
Can walk until everything fleeting is
captured in the vision.
Like this rush of soaring sea-birds,
that at my steps have flocked
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
2 thoughts on “A Poem: Waiting for the Birds”
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