1285

low flying bird flying low
below the twisting sun
and that crystal throne
long coveted in its
bending and spinning
what a place to be
what a home to have

I thought my stairs
always moved up
but the balance has been thrown
so they lay on their back
with water lapping
against their stone spine

I adjusted my eyes
stared at the floor
asked in a simple rhyme
tell me what it is you love more
the slow steady sound of rain
or the sound of your lover’s hand
warm and firm on the door

low flying bird flying low
with a tie
and a shackle in its beak
circling
circling
just circling
and you thought for once
about home
and a nest
all neat and far and near and close
where that black bird
returns to

every other night
I get carried away
bind myself in mascara
and a strong liquid
some ether to forget
the glimmering of that
wayward crystal throne
that home
we never had