A quiet morning before I head off to Selma, Alabama. Funny where life goes.
--
"We Collect Gull Feathers" by Timothy Young from Building in Deeper Water
We Collect Gull Feathers
As the evening dies over Pepin,
we collect gull feather, black and white ones,
and pretend they were dropped by the eagle
whose track and wing marked
the gray Mississippi sandbar.
Jesse remarked as we arrived,
"If I point at hawks they fly away,
but if I don't they stay in their trees."
The river moves heavily, south,
and the sun drops beyond the bluffs.
The air chills me.
I want to keep my fingers in my pocket,
because everything moves on here,
except that sweet pain of love that knows
he's growing up to leave me.
