Like Something Shared Between Poets

Once I looked up into a tree at a bird
That was embowered in shady branches
And saw it languidly stretch one wing
As a sunbeam shone among the leaves
Tracing a golden arc along its wing’s edge
An ordinary moment, but special to me
I stood beside a woman in a wheelchair
It was her hobby to photograph birds
During lunchtime on the seminary grounds
She often wheeled herself to that grove
We were chatting then, and both saw
The golden line along that bird’s wing
She raised her camera but missed it
We exchanged glances, as if to say,
‘That would have made a fine picture
The lens did not catch it, but we saw it! ‘
I regretted distracting her from her hobby
Had I not come, she might have been ready
Yet she stayed at that spot to chat with me
Remembering our exchange of glances
I think of how poets appreciate each other