Spotting Turkeys
       

Last night's rain has flattened the grass
where a rafter of wild turkeys inches along,
                bowing as they go —
content to do just what turkeys do,
to be just who or what they are,
egg-born, bony, and humble as dirt.

They linger on the hillside with a deep thrum,
feathered instruments tuning up in bass,
assessing all in their ken:
                                glossy seedlings,
bent stalks of milkweed,
copper-green lichen on a rock.

                                Pecking and scrutinizing
at the edges of things
as if they had all the time in the world.

                                                        Then, crackling,
lively as fire,
        they spread across the hillside,
                                darkening it with mystery.
When they leave with a low ascent
and muffled clapping, the landscape listens —
                    rapt, in their spell.

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Copyright © 2019 Jerome Gagnon All rights reserved
from Rumors of Wisdom
Concrete Wolf
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission