THE SWALLOW

 

I consulted the entrails of a swallow

still alive and fluttering,

and shuffled the cards of God:

always turned up the Fool.

I didn't see anything in the prismal

heart of the swallow flying to the sun.

No future like a diamond. No love

like the smell of sweetgrass. No glory

in the shape of laurel crown.

The swallow finally blended

into the dusky horizon.

I reshuffled the cards of God:

 always turned up the Fool.