Appearances - Clare Morris

[Larry Robinson]

Appearances

It lay on cement that wet winter Sunday
red-shafted flicker’s wings spread wide, beak black
pointing to the sky.

Did it fly into its own reflection seen in nearby
windows, into the unreal that looked so true? -
the mirror: invisible pane.

We too can mistake reflection for truth.
any mirror could kill us if we hit it head on.

One day a finch flew into my house.
A glass prison for the bird.

It flew again and again into clear pane until
it gave up for a moment, perched on a
curly willow branch in a pot, grew still.

I raised its entry window, letting a breeze
flow in. The finch felt fresh air’s call to be free.
It flew out at last into the truth of what was.

	- Clare Morris