Living on Earth
       

Desperate for a drink
              this dry winter,
an unlikely amalgam of birds
              clusters on the birdbath's rim.
A flicker pecks briskly
              at frozen water. The black grin
of feathers across his chest
              disappears and reappears
as his head bends and lifts,
              bends and lifts.
The other birds are wary of h is bill.
              I-louse finches and towhees,
juncos and sparrows,
              even a bright goldfinch,
wait their chance, do not fly away.

They say the ever-expanding universe
              burst out
of a marble-sized bit of matter
              in a trillion trillionth of a second.
From that unimaginable moment
              to this rich speck
of struggling abundance—
              what are the impossible odds
that I should be here as witness?

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Copyright © 2011 Elizabeth Raby All rights reserved
from Ink on Snow
virtual artists collective poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission