Aught, no. 15 (2006)
the kingfisher
for Charles Olson
once the blue flame
had caught in my throat:
a hundred years of having cross
walked through the thorn & the turbine
indoctrinated w/every wind's whim
dribbled out on my bib
in a luxurious rust:
not one death but many
the sun the same failure
that some golden age once had tested for
while out in the courtyard
w/their knees bruised & bent
so exquisitely backwards
a sentence they eventually survive
w/eyedroppers of mettle & irony
I hunt among stones
where the shadows have long been
trying to enter their side of our story