The Birdbath

The Birdbath

Angela Richart, Assistant Editor-in-Chief

I am flat, cold and unmoving

Moved only by glistening raindrops

Plopping down from the sky

Like salty tears from an eyelash

Shimmering as it hurries down your cheek

Weakly landing on the back of your hand

And I am quite the same

Daylight dries up my heart and yet

Too often I am flooded by storms

Swarms hum around my lip

Dipping birds nestle in my pool

Cool water then cleanses their feathers

Featherlight air wafts over them

Then they hop up onto my ledge

Edging ever close until they finally

Leave nothing behind

And fly away from me