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Ebony Feathers
To the dusk alone there is the twilight
streaks of the last gloam waver
stretching furs, scratching at each bodily pore
upon the witching-hour
sheaved scarlet shadow on iris, rutilant
burning and burning it departs the heart
scald and cauma it reaches the rest, devoid of sleep at dark
awaken from lucid mizzle, so dense it holds the night at mist
but wide-awaken the one hunkers, tearing, punching,
squashing droplets into the flat vocal cord
sooty crows call by dead-of-night
The tremble a thwack to azure ether
Lifting a corner, by whose scuttle skew shrills enter through
As arrows pin into the mellow maelstorm, admixing the paste
Waves, waves that expand the heavy night
Twilight floods the dawn
As ebony feathers dissipating in flares
their last flight drowned
condensing in glaring fire, flames a blast
And at the infant crimson day
Seeds of which flesh do drip
under the sky the same as all
no roars, no screeches, tinfoil torn in vain
Breeze sizzles
papers lost in possession
amidst the night summer winds
To forget
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