The hills have buried the day
in this nondescript dawn. Stillness muffles
even the language of sparrows in the hedge.
The paving stones are damp with dew,
and ivy shakes on the wooden fence.
Blackbird, where is your song?
–Excerpt from “Blackbird” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Wichita Falls Literary and Arts Review.
. . . In future, we will recall these walks,
some prettier than others. The exquisite call
of the blackbird, trapped in a nondescript body,
sings delight from some scented corner
of mossed rock. We stop to listen . . .
–excerpt from “Rockery” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014). First published in Pulsar Webzine.
On the top branch of the tallest ash
sings a wild strawberry
in the form of a bird —
–excerpt from “Cardinal Virtues” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, Chicago, 2013). First published in Front Range Review.