Meadowlark

Little lark: I fly loops
above your world, which got so small

while of the real world,
real world leaders throw cold coins
over their shoulders into a cold fountain
            for luck

If it fell out like that, then it was what was wanted
by a majority of people
or close enough—

the L, the chainlink linking it,
the shape the knight makes on a chessboard, strategical,
the long winter,
the lake level’s low

                      Oh look, love, the lark
rising from the wooden fence, her shadow
flattening across the dry brush in the yard,
the pumpkin vines I looped and piled
on the galvanized steel bed, the plot now fallow
where the meadowlark could still land
 

Source: Poetry (October 2024)