In ancient art, birds always seem to carry
a hint of the unworldly;
their fragile bodies just the physical expression
of some god
intruding on our world.
Flight and song; the essence of occult.
We praise them in bowls of water
left as mirrors
for them to bathe in,
and with propitiatory offerings of seed.
~~~~
At Poetry Thursday this week they invited people to post a line from one of their own poems, and then use a line posted by someone else in their own poem. If that’s clear. Anyway, the line ‘we praise them in bowls of water’ is from a poem by Poet With A Day Job.
