Bob Cooper
Watching Finches
Swifts screech, cattle shift.
We climb warm rock then stare
over fields to a sun hanging
slow over Berwick. A car
miniatures uphill, shifts gear,
disappears in conifers.
All my life has brought me here
to gaze at light, untie and coil rope
then sit like the finches around us,
aware, not wanting to move.
Page(s) 42
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