Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Bird, bird


Gene Derwood

Age after age our bird through incense flies,
Angel or daw, dove, phoenix, falcon or roe,
Till this last last net of wings dark changed to wreck
The hoops of heaven, dove's arc, and all that cries.
The clotted frets of Daedalus unlock
An egg of paradox the gods disguise;
Men as the organs of the bird demise
Heaven's breath under the bomber's moon, flac-flac.
Plunge, boy, to paradise that in heart's choir
Is home, rocked on the chords of birth, low
Again home, bringing to earth your found fire
Be hound or vine, not etrail to the crow
Of metal death, -explode the skies of fear-
Come down, O Icarus, come down, down, O.

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