| Down Arched nostrils and Plasticine beak, A veined balloon, in my palm, Pre-feathered. Pinned quills bent on sprouting, I want you to meld, to become And the breath shakes even the fluff. Fallen, sawed from heaven, God's hands were curiously absent, Mine are sad apologies. Your heart beating, pumping. Liquid belly Is only an accusation. In the dark, I heard a whisper-whistle From a scaled neck. I caught at it like syrup from a mother's spoon, The sugar-hiccup- Your balloon burst And the sky didn't even flinch, Held no remorse. |