The Barn Swallows fly
across my porch, before
my kitchen door
and I catch the curve
of their flight trying
to recall if I’ve seen
one fly in a straight line,
think not. If the shortest
distance between two
points is a straight line,
what about the curve
of a hip, the slant
of a shoulder, rounded
breasts¸ asymmetrical lips,
the crooked smile
that leads to heart and
soul? The flow of words
that make the riverbeds
of love? The Barn Swallows
fly across my porch;
they make sure I notice.
-Byron Hoot
https://www.facebook.com/hootnhowlpoetry/
Hootism: knowing when to end a piece of writing takes care of knowing how to end it. When isn’t this true?
