Transmigration
As kerosene climbs through a wick
Or sap through oak by the slow
Fire of transpiration,
So moisture from the saltpan
Has scaled the flesh and feathers
Of this long-fallen crow
And seeded it with crystals.
Alone with its blue shadow
As if on a shield of snow,
Half scavenger with a tough beak,
Now more than half a vessel
That might have served Versailles,
It challenges the sun
With a blistering salt eye,
Easy in the wisdom
That its fellows are nothing at all,
Serene in its lucky fall,
Its dazzling transmigration
From bird to the stabler kingdom
Of the gem and mineral.
(Appeared first in Poetry)
by Bruce Berger on Wednesday, June 20, 2007
