Poorwill

William Wenthe

An eruption from under-hedge, fluttering and dodging
like a moth in a surfeit of light-
with everywhere to turn, turns everywhere-
as if buffeted by wind of its own
wings; then swoops close, hangs a moment
sun-pinioned, wings shot
with light, barred buff-tones and grays
like an x-ray, pinned
in my eyes; only to crumple, and leaf-sway across
courtyard to shadowed foyer,
perching on threshold, a dark knot; then upswerves
to a cornice, brief gargoyle,
and flushes, caroms, corners the building-and gone.

Goatsucker, nightjar: names given the family
of birds, nocturnal, exquisitely feathered to blend
into leafmold, treebark, gravelbed. This bird
I know enough not to recognize
so I search in a book, and find it-poorwill,
this flurry of simile, and a half-swallowed whimper,
wishing only to be invisible.