Even the most ordinary, doe-brown
versions discarded by Canada geese
as common in this park as leaves.

My walking buddy does not ask why
I bend to pluck them from the path,
nor what I will do with the feathers,

which I appreciate, because, in truth,
I don’t do much—add them to the coffee cup
that sits atop an old manual typewriter

in my dining room, morning sun
coating their glossiness. In the cup
the quills flock together, their tips,

I imagine, could perhaps be whittled
into writing instruments, dipped
into an inkwell of liquid midnight

and applied to paper—every scratchy
stroke helping the poem to fledge,
to take wing, jubilantly, and fly.

•••

For Cindy Domasky and her beloved kestrel friends in Prairie du Chien,
Wisconsin. Watch the live kestrel cam here.