Then said Jesus unto him,
“Except ye see signs and wonders,
ye will not believe.”
- John 4:48
I sat in the grass
bent over words
when slap into the stillness
flapped a mockingbird,
proclaimed the cherries ripe
by falling to.
That bird has an eye
for the delicious,
the signed and wondrous
moment that’s gone
even as it arrives.
I spilled my pages, ran
for a bucket, a bowl,
something to fill.