Reflection

Reflection

The red bird streaks,

Fixes the flower

In the vase.

But it thuds to the ground,

Felled by a force field

That it perhaps guessed

At the last moment was there:

A reflection, a moment

Of self-recognition.

It lies,

Stunned,

Before rising again

To its feet and its flight,

Gaining one more chance

To tell truth from tricks of light.

We watch, warm,

And shake our heads:

Why can’t it tell?

But don’t we too fall

For visions of worlds

That we cannot enter,

No matter how fast we fly

Or how hard we try?