caught on the wing the wing is a
disarray of sun spots
overtaking

the air black dots on sheer on trans-
parency on wheel and whee
openness so

surprising it rivals invincibility what
is magic to do pull itself
out of a hat

saw itself in two what a to-do
grabs hold of my finger
extended will

not to be shaken free together we are one
stem one spire one shoot upshot
bent at a right

angle to itself so this is what it feels
to be reed a stem with wings
for leaves a

finger that can see how the wind blows what
whir ungloves my breath what whist
what wings two

sets can up can down can blow fast
forward faster re-
verse how is

language to keep up how outwing
those wings their gulps
and gobbles of

ricochet at every bump is this
what the world is this romp
this dizziness a fast

roll of the dice four dots and three hundreds
bounced into life the same
morning bumbling

babies they stub their fantastic
engines on air on me not
at all brainy

like a bow tied like a fancy gift done
up with organza like a spree
a paint-the-town dotty

such extravagance such waste too soon
they stump to a standstill in
puddles on hedges

tossed aside still brand new still shiny
the windup toy that will not wind a
mood run down

should i take back my delight delaminate
what wing was joy but oh my king-
dom for the tip of a branch