I have grown old, quite old,
scrutinizing the flight of birds,
divining from their paths,
as custom and talent have required,
auspicious signs and ominous harbingers.
But lately, the sky, which for so long
felt to me like a close and trusted friend,
has become enigmatic and oppressive
under an unrelenting succession of portentous days.
I have never asked for anything beyond
what is and has been naturally accorded
to the augur in this once and still great state.
Now, I am asking for something;
not to turn away from the vast heavens
(I know nothing other than the sky
and my neck is too old to unbend);
nor to have its innumerable denizens
aviary-bound. If I have my way, I will
still gaze from dawn to dawn at the miracle
of sparrow, dove, magpie and owl on wing,
but, finally, and for the first time, let it be
free from the burden of augurous intent
(and especially, from wars and the threat of wars).
I will, if you let me, watch them,
from now on, wholly differently.
Closing these sharp eyes for good,
I will open brand-new, aged eyes and witness
without interpretation or foreboding,
simply and artlessly, the innocent
geometry of birds in flight.
Nathaniel Lachenmeyer is a disabled author of books for children and adults. His first book, The Outsider, which takes as its subject his late father’s struggles with schizophrenia and homelessness, was published by Broadway Books. Nathaniel has new/forthcoming poems in The American Poetry Review, Poetry International Online, Blue Earth Review, Louisiana Literature and Another Chicago Magazine. Nathaniel lives outside Atlanta with his family. www.NathanielLachenmeyer.com.