We’ve all heard that thud—
stunned on the grass,
breathing hard, drawn close
to the hollow flight-feather,
beak cranking, the claw
scratching at air
till the neck warps, under
the sun-struck wall—
the other side of love.

A Message from the Editors

Since 1982, The New Criterion has nurtured and safeguarded our delicate cultural inheritance. Join our family of supporters and secure the future of civilization.

This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 30 Number 8, on page 34
Copyright © 2022 The New Criterion | www.newcriterion.com