Swallows
Jens Kruse
This morning, as I open my eyes,
I see them,
a dozen or so of them,
swallows,
flying in front of my windows
as only swallows can:
gliding, then fluttering,
with rapid, sharp turns,
hunting insects,
showing off to their mates,
flashing white bellies
in the early morning
sunlight.
I stand by my window
gazing at them in awe
thinking that
spring has finally come,
that Elpis, the Greek
not-quite-goddess of hope
is sending me a signal.
But then I remember that,
when Epimetheus opened
Pandora’s jar, releasing
burdensome toil,
sickness and death to the world,
he closed the lid
before Elpis could escape.
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