CONCERNING ETERNITY
A kestrel is hanging up there
perhaps only
seconds before swooping down,
and the wind sweeps over the hillside
and the grass bends,
as it always has done,
and the earth
has the smell
that some would call
a smell of decay
others
a smell of richness.
Somewhere close by
there is an open window
and a radio’s turned on
in the room inside,
and the tone heard
is the words
searching out of the house and hiding
like a second voice
inside the wind.
The kestrel
is still hanging up in the blue sky,
and I’m still in the grass
on a hillside
right in my outer rim of Denmark.
The sun too
is gentle and quiet.
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