Ellen Hinsey

 

Varieties Of Flight

There, in the air--traceless blue--arena of circuits 
And saunters, some rise with difficulty 

'While others lift buoyant, tack of tail turned 
Westward--take wide air under their keel, 

And sprint, shoot and sail up to where, in invisible 
Gyres they revolve tropical or northern, 

Spreading their full breadth to survey the scene, 
Their prey hidden in land folded and patched; 

Others, tail-sure tuck and dive, fall in a single tear, 
Against a stony silhouette of hill; others 

In wind jibe and yaw, storm-wise, head into 
Air as prows take the jab and flack of waves-- 


But some are threaded by thin parachute, line of silk, 
They soar only when bidden, cross a width 

Of draft, but hang when the wind is becalmed 
And suspended; still others come from deeper 

Hues--leap into air as if seeking a higher realm, 
Where hidden stars crown a miraculous 

Dome of blue--fly on their fins, and their short 
Leap is the curve of Noah's colored arc: 

Still for others, flight is trammeled--rooted, as fires lift 
Only in sparks, but are held fast to their 

Flames; and sound flies blindly over distance, 
But cannot renew the force of its thrust; 


Sight sweeps and tempers rise; tall grasses bend and 
Rumors mount; winds wind over, as insects 

Hover, and stars speed free under frail failing 
Night, while fleet tongues tell their tales-- 

And Knowledge--poor earth-bound ember--sails, 
But fails to ignite.