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great gull wings, angel cries, the taste of milk from a metal can, and then to vanish, flutter of a dress, soft closing of a bedroom door, tasted kiss given without thought or care -- there, oh, over there -- and here, scratchings, … stammerings, knurls of tongue, camera, pen, the hunter with his broken nets, the child crying in the unaccountable morning, the obsessive recorder, 
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twisting as you dream, reaching to catch the sun with your eye, the crazed herds of the sky in a little trap of signs, scratching sand whitened by the ocean surrounding, following to reflection's bottom the sun, in the quiet room not knowing you are drowning. Wrestling the Umbrella The sky's shattered like tears, she says. And you curse the flimsy roof flailing like a windmill above your heads as the wind makes a fool of both of you.  |
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