Poems

Deep Bay Swallows

From the top of the cliff above the lake
swallows launch themselves into air,
never wondering if air will support them,
never doubting that air
will lift their pointed wings.
They seem not to need to rehearse
first lessons, nor do they hesitate,
hundreds of feet above the rocks
or the flat plate of the lake.
No, in the insubstantial medium of air
they draw their unselfconscious arcs.
They do not seem to have suffered a fall
that did not end in flight.
What wings have we with which to fly
except the trust
that for now someone or something
holds up all our falling,
intending for us to learn
to lean forward into apparent emptiness
and push off from where we cling
into all that waits to meet
our outstretched faith.

-Gary W. Hawk