For Away the Clouds

As the bird preens over the waters, Bright and soft,
The sky’s frequent sun turns,
Reflections dip below.

Who sings deliberate,
Or is it questing long and bright? Pointing at swaying sails, The waves reach ever steady.

The ripples part before its flight As if each sign met grace. Gone, in its plumes, the air
Clings to love as the skies renew.

• Marianne Moore