Reed Lowell
Each nightingale is rapturous. Dreaming of Halcyon,
king, and queen to be
fish for their crowns.
Ascent
on the wind.
A chase erratic.
Sing, writhe, and croon.
The climb
maxes.
Day breaks
and morning follows.
A reflection
in descent
over placid waters.
That spring
has echoed for too long.
A pursuit
in cacophony
never better than the first.
And the fall will come again
with gale
and rain
and ardor.
But for once,
I wish it wouldn’t.
I wish not to race for a rise
only a moment to be.
Clamor 