The house was, what—a quarter-mile away
from ours? Elm and green St. Augustine,
two-car mirage. Assortment of machines
built to persuade weeds with blades. And an airplane.
Well, the start of one—a wooden bird
born bones-first and growing, rib by moonward
rib. A pterodactyl skeleton.
A cage to wrap an angel in.
Mend the lodge; mentor the kits.
Understand teeth are the final gateway.
Stalk the whispering flutes of air within common reeds. Kiss an overlooked wonder: webbing.
Relish the numberless psalm formerly known as swim.
Amen the snails.
Tail every floating tendril of glory.
Ha brakha dabra: “The blessing has spoken.”
They sat in the ancient place
of the broken and bombed,