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By Owen Lucas

Two robins move discreetly
Inside the midday shadow
Of a telegraph pole.
They approach each other,
Sidelong, across the tarmac,

Angling their eyes quietly
From one side to the other,
Hunching in their
Black and orange and grey
Feathers, never venturing

Outside of the shadow of the
Pole’s great round trunk
Into the cool light
Of noon. Across the road,
Daffodils nod in their beds.

As if at some sign, they fly
Into the immediate air,
Orbiting as binary,
Dancing furiously about
In the fire of their wings,

That are as substantial
Only as the cool air itself.
Their love is violent
As their violence is loving :
They are held in centrifuge.

They fall and seem to tend,
Silently, before their own
Accomplishment,
Or before some broader
Power that had moved them.

___

Owen Lucas is a British poet living in Stamford, CT. He grew up in rural Cambridgeshire, and began writing poetry while studying at the University of London. He was previously featured in Petrichor MachineThe MacGuffinPsychic MeatloafLines & StarsThird WednesdayYou Stumble Into a Room Full of Poets and Clinic


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