Two Birds

The sunlight crowns her red brown hair
(Its diamonds sparkle as befits a queen).
Shepherding her, the moss and the clover lie
Along the pathway lest she miss a step and dash her foot.
She, with careless grace, there beneath the fruit
And flower-burdened trees, has found
The center of the bower where a gilded finch
Twirls and pirouettes easily, serenading.
The water, cool and pure, has soothed
And bathed his feet. The sky and hills mirror
Green-yellow in the pool, shimmering blue.
He kicks and sends a flying emerald cascade
Into the breeze, his woodland staff in hand,
A painted bird on his shoulder
Below the swaying trees
All rainbow-colored, dancing, rustling wordlessly.
"Cockatoo," just so named, looks right and left.
Alarmed, he launches roughly, painfully cutting his master.
The finch, frightened, falls silent.
Tiny drops of blood stain the clear water.
The man watches as far off clouds gather.
He hurries away, leaving traces in the stream behind him,
Marring the surface. "Where are you!" he calls.
"Eve!"

—John Peterson

Two Birds appeared in issue 8.3.