The Turning

And before one
could notice

the swallows
had completed
their clay jugs
in the eaves

and before one
could notice

the sparrows had
nested and birthed
in the broken
street lamp

and before one
could notice

a forgiving was
begun—leaving

the survivors
to adjust to
life now

life now—more than

the countless leaves
on the Russian olive
outside my window

so silver—so green


 

J. Janda