Mallards
This is the crossroads,
this is where it is.
Black cat killed a chaffinch,
see her rust feathers
descend, feather-blown
they roll down stone steps.
and your freedom —
even the robin heralds it. Someone,
someone has put bunting up.
You are caught on the first step of your descent,
in a pause of red, of white,
in this absolute now
Mallards is © C. Murray, Image is © Salma Caller
Chris Murray 