Mornings on the Terrace

My wails warble through the birdsong;
wept words flutter between flights
of lighter feathers that soar
as chorus over the grass--
               longings shriven to larks,
               chants of wrongs to wrens,
               bleeds of cardinal confessions,
               dripping heavy over distant creeks
               where herons rise in winds of groans
and I listen for the mocking:
               a cry sounded as reflection blown
               laughed through the leaves--
instead I hear the coo of my kind confessor,
the dove’s return to these trees
               where, together, our calls lift their song . . .
               a harmony of howls hovering
               as a strain of hope.

--
Lee Kiblinger is a Texas poet who loves to travel with her husband, laugh with three adulting children, play mahjong and enjoy words with Rabbit Room poets. Her work can be found in Ekstasis, The Windhover, Solum Journal, Heart of Flesh, Calla Press, Clayjar Review, The Way Back to Ourselves and others. You can read more of her poetry in her first collection, All the Untils (Wipf and Stock) or on her Substack at www.ripplesoflaughter.com.