vessel

(my attempt at Midrash, after seeing the remains of an encounter of a bird with the neighborhood cat)

vessel

in the yard this morning
were feathers,

left overs blown
from the ark
as it floated by
last night in sleep,

filled to overflowing
with quiet life,
landfall expectant
these centuries.

and Noah,
lost over the ages
looking for Ararat,
tired beyond description
from his sacred charges
in the hold,

fumbled for doves
and instead
released fireflies.

two little lights,
flickering from his hand,
then losing themselves
in the dark
above the patient animals.