Walking a path on a hot afternoon,
shedding a heavy mantle of work’s entangling thoughts,
my attention’s drawn to a shadow on the path —
a dark purple swallow
rests with his belly buried
in the sun-baked sand at path’s edge.
As I was already too close for him to stay
he lifted up from his warm bed
with swift and elegant ease
of the swallow.
It was the sweet picture of his silent repose
in the sun-warm sand
that remained luminous on my inner screen
and buoyed my afternoon stroll
as from within I flew
with the gracious glide of the purple martin.