Kristin Roedell

If there are no birds
all is still well.
God made the sea craft
prow dividing wind,
marlins soaring deep
into another sky,
leaves feathered ruffled
and sleek;

the language of the deaf,
fingers rising and settling.
Perhaps there are no birds,
only words that mean flight,
lift, ascend; when spoken,
a thing with wings appears

and even an unbelieving soul
sees birds as he pulls in his sails:
the white canvas floats,
the waves peak, the dolphins
swim in a v
the way geese fly.