A Brief Moment in the Sun

Charles A. Gramlich

On the dark, metallic lake,
the winds whip in the
sun’s last moments.
Whitecaps catch fire like
the manes
of swimming horses.

Above in the gloaming,
the same quick flare prisms
the pinions of birds.
With raucous cries, gulls soar,
dip, whirl
like animated origami.

On a sleek black bridge, I pass,
stony eyes stung to life,
empty heart briefly filled.
No wind in my hair, no wings
on my back.
Yet still I soar.