Here I stand, a figure in the dying light,
Watching as your graceful neck bends to a shifting velvet surface.
My eyes, so dazzled with reflecting light, squint to catch your reed thing legs,
With a grace unknown to my kind you step from shore to lapping water.
Ever mindful of the feast of silver just below.
How the wind ruffles your colors,
Bringing out the azure hues.
Deep gray you seem, yet you lift yourself upon the wind.
Radiant wings ride upon the wind, pulling you up and away out of reach.
Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.