My Beloved is Mine and I Am
       

still circling the airport like a moth
pivoting toward a false moon I am
unsure of my car      my route      these roads
knotted like a disease I follow
faithfully the signs they say to yield

      it's what I'm made of yielding and light
with powdered wings always beyond my
eyes' tangents      while above the hole has
grown ragged with light      is it dawn or

a birth more monstrous still the pilots
all taut and crisp-eyed circle far more
cleanly than my misguided      blindly
misguided      but not without a guide
      route I am following the hole in

the heavens have ordered a leaking
upon my upturned face      this sharp rain
filling my convertible while I
twitch lifting toward what drips its lifeblood

into my shoulders      I see tyvo planes
mate among the stars      one fuselage
constricts inside the other's claw one
red beak strikes down at the beloved
mouth open not to speak      to swallow

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Copyright © 2016 Dan Rosenberg All rights reserved
from Thigh's Hollow
Omnidawn
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission