Montebello: Bird Beak

A fractured honeybee, the dragonfly,
no, a bird with wings like jewels shimmering
like sparklers, no, like oil lightly coating,
the iridescence nothing like fireworks,
the slow shift of color blurred by the speed
of wings, hyped up on red sugar, a blaze
of heat carmelizing, half flicker, half
slow-fast-fast, slow-fast-fast … hot and cold both,
now I’m craving the caramel but press for
limes (the spurt, sparkle, sizzle), bright shadow,
green and purple, dark-skinned, like the ripe plum
with three stickers on it (as if I don’t
know a plum when I see one, I scent one,
taste one, except that new cross-bred pluots
have confused that matter and genetic
modification means you never know),
no one does, really, like now, when it’s me,
when I don’t know, because I can’t
recall, my brain so befuddled and blurred
I can’t tell you what I’m thinking about
except there was once a bird, once outside
my living room window, in the tree’s shade,
but I never saw it, only my son
saw it, fast as meteors, something else
I’ve never seen, while everyone around
exclaims about streaks of light and color,
speed, bright, white, and I spin and spin around,
“Where? What? Where? What?” over and over and …


2 responses to “Lost

  1. Nice to see you have the energy to write

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