HOW THE BLACK SHINES

He remembers
the particular

glance of sunlight
off a bird's wing

so that the black
shone

for that second
and forever

and how he had stolen it
from the living tapestry

of that only moment
and if one were to go back

it would be found
to be missing

thieved from Time
and how now

the typewriter keys
raise their angry little fists

and strike the page
in rage

and the tiny ting when a word comes
to the end of a line

and the stolen sunshine and
the shining of black

become
the words

that are offered
now

this seeing at seven
become a bird of words

startled to find
itself now

on the snowdrift
of a page

snatched from the memory
of a child who is

no longer a child