Page 25 - Contrast1975

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Hawk's Tune

wheeling and screeching
the fire of the hawk's eye burns a grid

across the meadow:
toothpicks and broken bones

if there is a place for the cool shudder of laser beams
there is a way to all things.

when I move my hands to clap at the sun: an echo:
there is a black and blue bruise singed on the horizon;

it is magnetic and polar at the same time: an echo:
to think about that is damaging

I resemble a tree (something of a kaleiope)
When you pass like the wind

my leaves tremble and make anxious skirt brushing sounds.

a party dress
I've drunk myself thin

giving in
to winter
I pretend that you are the clouds-
and that the song of my faIling hair
transforms you into castles and queens

and horses' tails-
each leaf is a popped note-
When I have done this to you

I feel hoarse
my crying fingers are raw from singing
, fiutes

french horns
and violins
busted string and crumpled sun on the ground

My branches are naked vocal chords;
you go on changing

-Andrew Eepiemiloona