A pilgrimage has taken to a wood
my saunterer, idling in the warmth I sit
upon a rock and wait. It’s for the good
naught moves but breath, it is a canvas lit
of expectation. Leaf and stem will waft
the echoes of my stillness, readying
for colloquy; their parties know as soft
its fond, auspicious mantra. Wants now wing
the air with small arrivals, one by one
a little, feathered hallelujah lands
to glean and forage. Shadows render dun
their plumage, then the sun with gold commands
each flank to velvet buff, they blush from spry
and olive coverts. Silver rings my eye.
Lucy Wilks was born in Melbourne in 1960. Her poems have appeared in Verse, Meanjin, Southerly, Otoliths, Rabbit and Cordite.