owl

sore sweet forever infinite second

of grace I cuddle in the black tumble

of time still in the stripping flow the soft

undress by the warm world| the forest floor

lays the dead and the dying down tucks up

to pencil-necks the soon to sleep cracks tunes

from its bones to lullaby to soothe calm

acquiescence from the shivered| taught

well the silky give of your tempered corpse

the fallen face emptied serenity draped

across the pegs of your bones| absorption

of the cruel world and the honest worship

of that| I fall for a while now return

to the death to the truth that knocked me back|

o thou thin miracle proud in slimy      

heat not made of hyacinths but aping

life| I’m aware of you foetal-pawed nailed

to the crust of a breathless man turtle

head in pincers dying in hospital

televised or ashamed| o you formless

creature anaphylactic and scared new

skin scalded you’re blind-eyed and crippling|

crooked you who I love so much I am

without coherence giddy in the bawl

of wind that whips and moulds your figure| stretch

happy in the drench of rain that paints flesh

on your translucence joy in ribboning

birds that are your nerves in the open sky|

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