In That Moment....

Stead, C.K.

In that moment when the morning swallows
dash and skitter across the terrace
and under its shallow roof
there are flashes like the kingfisher's wing--
a blue as vivid but not as dark.

They have a lot to say in so short a time
and then are gone
over the roofs and down
among the vines and olives.

A visitation,
a blessing which takes no account
of who might receive it,
it has the ease, the indifference
even, you might think, the disdain
of perfect art.

Now the sun
coming from behind the houses
is permitted to touch alight
the farthest reaches of the sea,
and the whole hot process
in the bakery of the day
has begun.

This morning I will swim in the Adriatic,
stroll the length of Kalelarga (and back!)
have coffee in the Square and try to read
the messages that come to me encoded
in the organ-voice * of the sea--
and finally consult with my new wise friends
the stones of Zadar.

* Zadar has under its waterfront thirty-five organ pipes, played,
in five varying chords, by the movement of waves.