At night we fly
alone in silence
across the cool,
dark and earthy plants.
We seek the ones
we need for love
or food or sacred
intercession, god’s
question always “Why,”
are women stronger
and no one responds.
We are wiser birds,
or perhaps the ones to
bear the most and then
say less and succeed
at humble tasks the most.
Brave old bird, or sly, your
feathered heads like snow,
in grace and priestly dress.