Meadowlark

Little lark: I fly loops

above your world, which got so small

while of the real world,

real world leaders throw cold coins

over their shoulders into a cold fountain

            for luck

If it fell out like that, then it was what was wanted

by a majority of people

or close enough—

the L, the chainlink linking it,

the shape the knight makes on a chessboard, strategical,

the long winter,

the lake level’s low

                      Oh look, love, the lark

rising from the wooden fence, her shadow

flattening across the dry brush in the yard,

the pumpkin vines I looped and piled

on the galvanized steel bed, the plot now fallow

where the meadowlark could still land