S

monsters have freight, you know
the kind that shadows weigh with
edges. it’s lighter, but allows no other
back and in, forth and out, the
way the wings fold perfectly
against the time and diamonds

there’s no wealth left, no circumstance
but wrath and dear departures
a sibilance of corpses, whose
waters flow in secret groves
there’s not one feather fallen
but i’m the one thus chosen
to stand there and remember

the ways his eyes would sing and speak
the ways his wings would teach and startle
there, among the pleasant world
starfishes, broken guns. old bark
and friction’s crash.