Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Al-Awwal: The Power of the Fool

He did not mean to hit the glass—
Feeders usually dangle from a point above,
Not suction cupped to a window,
And so, with a flipped tail and fancy approach,
He swooped in and found air had become
A little

I ran out into the rain
And picked up his bedraggled form,
Cupping him with warm hands.
He blinked, beak open,
His heart beat sure and racing against my thumb.
I cradled him for a few minutes until
His eyes cleared,
Shoulders moved a little, remembering flight,
And then, I opened my hands
And loosed him with a prayer.

Foolish bird, perhaps,
But blessings glide in on
Such light bones.


Find the entire poetry collection This Nurturing Awe:  Poems Inspired by the 99 Beautiful Names of God at


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