harking back to an earlier poem of mine: poor wendy -- all the heroines get left behind. but she was a darling after all. yes, i very much have tears in my eyes. and it shall be hard to see, and sometimes i won't want to, but i will go on looking an...
i take up a metal wing which is frayed at the edges —
where once i contemplated the orange flicker of those elephant tusks in the night :
their light flutter to slow his open mouth gleaming through.
his body is an alien form now ; particles scattered amongst others.
i see a metal wing brim in the dark which takes a child's palm way back.
the plates that we ate off of the cups from which we drank sipped dipped fingers in lemonade in summer : a decade of dreams slipped away with my open eye dancing on your hard lap :
rambo's feathers dropped in the dirt down to the dry earth and we found his wet wings torn from socket
and i wished i could recreate his familiar form once more.
no more home in the glow of his eye no more just the separation of an open window .
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