Utu Man (28) Night Birds

Flutter of birds
through the dark hours:

the pounding mass of plumes,
with its hefty heart-like throb
cleaving a leaden crevice
in the eye-laden orb;

the scythe-like swishing bursts
that would become sustained
if their own echoes
didn't keep them moment-chained;

the fitful slashing slides
of a wing rotating on
its vein-ensnared axis
steeped in the brine of dawn.

I went into the garden,
the ground was inlaid
with tatters of blue cotton
cut out from the night's plaid.

I gathered up as many
of them as I could bear
and had a gown made
which I often wear,

I put it on, to hide
my own fragmented night
that slowly grows whole
with no wings at all.

Вланес, 2009

Сертификат Поэзия.ру: серия 790 № 70768 от 30.06.2009

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