I Could Use a Tune Up
Any old wings will do.
A cropped or color-shy set,
even a bumbling pair, peacock adorned,
that my sun might flap from a basement.
I'll trade you mine for just couples of yours,
mine are children and crack in sparrow's breeze.
And nearly mottled at the thought of a nest.
And nearly south from hers whose I've held.
I know--I know she's so darn cloud-worthy,
a Swallow with her rivers,
but I'm inborn a different way of falling up,
more broken loops that end in dive,
then winging again to
a sun from my basement;
Of this ache i'll climb,
or this end i'll be.
t. j. m. may 1997