Sometimes things are better left unsaid

There are a dozen women who stand
like cranes ruffling their red wing tips.

Such a beautiful form, to watch nature
repeated the way raindrops ripple puddles.

Pools that reflect the underbellies of birds.
Look down and you will see them flying.

One woman, her hat, joins the birds.
I catch it before it reaches still water.

Clouds roll overhead while wind sheds tears
softly like joy. A tiger prowls nearby.

He asks me if I understand. His face looks
like the multiple reflections of ruffled

feathers in a pitter-pattered pool. He asks
again. The scar of a claw mark runs red

across his cheek. Sunlight breaks through
the clouds and answers his question. I

squint up through the rays grinning then
turn back to his marked face and nod.