Green Hills Literary Lantern



Red-shouldered Hawk



Boots and binoculars,

I can’t get them on fast enough.

Life appears frozen


but I hear you singing to me

in my sleep.  All the other humans

drive by unnoticing


even as I stand

in the January street,

pjs, boots and binoculars.


We breathe together,

you up there, me down here,

a pair of wings and a pair of hearts


in a duet that blurs the focused lines

and softens the history

of trying.  I know you


understand surrendering latitudes,

so though my laces are not untied,

my hands not weighted


I set the tools, their manuals

down.  The snow beneath my toes

melts into the allowing times


and I lay the dying star of me

upon your warm cinnamon breast

your sky muscles holding the voice


of lost lineage – I am,

you are, we are

the listening centerpiece


re-seeding the razed grove

of hallowed oaks –

airborne and dreaming again


with absolute song.



Lisa Meserole teaches music and movement to young children.  She resides in Connecticut where she is often watching, listening to or reading about birds.  Her poems have appeared in Shot Glass Journal and Avocet.