Ars Poetica
by Amy Antongiovanni
From my desk, I watch hens peck and peck
til a worm forces its way up through damp earth.
A stellar jay perches, snaps its neck to and fro,
lets go his hold of the branch, and flies
as though he is worth something—
and I, too am small and blue with wings
practicing gratitude, patience, dreaming dangerous things.