2001/covey

COVEY

A covey of quail –
how often do you
get to say that –
by the steps.
Picking something
from the damp
oak leaves.
I discover them
when I open the door
to go out
and stop,
wanting to call
and tell you.
As though someone
has just sent
us a special
invitation.

But before I do
some interloper
sings out,
and one by one
they fly away.

2/02/01