Moira Linehan
The authority of the ordained—a cardinal’s
calling, his mate’s answer revelatory
of where she is. Dogmatic crows. Canada geese
in a furor, make that Puritanical
furor, over some minor transgression. Whether
I’m here or not, doves in their eternal mourning
on my porch roof. The supernatural vision
of the pond’s red-tailed hawk, its claim on all below.
Fidelity made flesh in the returning great blue,
pair of swans, same migratory mergansers late March,
late November. Three cormorants on a log—each
as if hanging on a cross, drying its wings.
The cloister a hummingbird makes of the moment.