Again I find you – 

among chariots, kings, lions

and gods. More bird

than man. 

​

Unearthed

​


 

Feathered in stone-

chiseled arrows. 

 

No wing-

wind of red-tail hawk

dims the snow-marked sky

 

Daggers honed

to slice the throb 

from time’s inky chest.

 

No rasping,

down-slurred spiraling

above stubbed hayfields

 

Guardian of banquet room

or tomb. Keen to the 

dead’s dialects.

 

No need of nest

or grave or

stars