twisted blackbird necks craning
for the depths of a throat feeding thought through sunlit clouds of a prismatic
wash of watercolor in a high noon hue
their gape
mouthed silence a wonder to the wide-eyed songs their eyes stole from the atlas
of sky and branches absent of applauding leaves and grackle chatter
the unseen
hand gently pooling their bodies in a mimic of spilled motor oil puddles in a
wreckage of serrated weeds and steel licked blades
in unison
they circle round in a direction of magnetic confusion where wings and claws
make spirographs of creek bed death knells, beaks and tail feathers the mortar
and pestles of resurrecting poultices
they widen
their breathing in lungs encompassing the space of time and the impulse of
dreams from lovers in a morphinesque phasing star of flares and screams
bare bodies
swaying, rocking, implanting their lust in the facades of rocks and sounding
their wants in the weight of humid rolling waves of cicada rattling
summer breezes baffle the back-lying birds as they watch a
strength built from lengths and heights with a might to whip loose linens from
a line and a gentle nature to carry a seed to the earth’s womb
E.A. O'Connell
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