A Poem: Flown

Joy is the bird
resisting too close an inspection.
At times all aflutter,
like the darting piwakawaka
diverting course just
before our camera’s lens.
We would do well not to
chase her through the forest,
but rather walk just a few steps away
that her song is an accompaniment.
Joy is like that, seldom seen clearly,
seldom kept confined.
The songbird that is joy
needs the freedom of inspiration,
the faith we might place in it,
for though it sings for an audience,
it defies capture.
We would do well just to keep attentive
to Joy’s presence,
and knowing Joy is eternal,
trust its reappearance.
How Joy must sleep like
all the living,
and our patient test of faith
wait upon Joy’s returning.
Our prayers and hope,
as Joy’s attendants,
usher in her presence.
We are like the ones who
sit with eyeglasses poised
for Joy to rustle the undergrowth.
Still slow to believe
that Joy, perpetually present,
is just not always visible.
That we,
like birds singing before the light,
might learn not
to lean upon evidence.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
April 2023