The sky at Villeneuve

By -
Just past the mountains, indigo at dusk, 
the ducks form
a shepherds' staff
of finger-tip chevrons

flying over 
the string of filament lightbulbs
bordering the lake.

Innate order, bone high
they complete a prophecy of mine
that birds will always come
over still water
if you wait 
but I wasn't waiting --

the sun upside down in my wine glass,
a spear of hot star on blue stone,
we spoke of salt nights and serenity

while the ducks moved in the sky,
knowing I needed them
to prove my own words

startling me with what I know --
forever poetry
pointing weightless
and breathing.



C. LJ Ireton 2025

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