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After Birding At Cochiti Lake
by Barbara Rockman

He comes home naming birds, eyes lit
with morning sky and wind off the lake.

All day, an avian vocabulary
moves between us and when

we roll close at night, I hear wings.
A junco twines a nest in my hair.

Across my back, a blue heron steps.
Tips of feathers brush thigh

and neck. A pintail duck paddles
beneath salt cedar through bosque

between us. My palms smooth
the sequined mallard. Silt slides from

our fingers. A rise of mountain bluebirds.
Rush of air, bald eagle lifting from pine.

Geese cry, reach the apex of sky, disappear
as we, in our unfeathered flesh,
drop down to sleep.



(first appeared in Fixed and Free Anthology)



 

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