"response" to Magdalena
Ball’s 21rst poem
ITSELF
A hawk drifting
on a current of air
before your marvelled eyes
it’s exactly what
you wish
the day could do
just let it float overhead
just slip out of its grip
keep this ability to leave
either body or world
meridians and lines
date and time
so this roundtrip of anger
this travel of yours
be the ripenning be the
blooming
of a sorrow revamped into winged sweet syrup
nothing like worn out or ragged
just a golden rain of some sort
healing the light itself
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