most all of it mostly feels like trick, like sleight of hand, like last night’s dream; in an airport, unaware of where i’m going, but knowing i am to go

how does one start?
a bird in the harbor,
not one of the
ubiquitous gulls,
and no, nothing
against them.
but a bird in the harbor.
the water is
rainbow’d with oil
and dimpled
to a thousand smiles
with Fall rainfall.
and a bird
with a long,
curved neck.
sleek, designers
create kitchen faucets
to shadow what the bird
naturally possess.
a sleek curved neck
and a long beak,
tapering down to
a fine point,
though it does not
look harmful.
pointed, without
wounding.
small fish may feel
otherwise, and
small fish scatter
as the bird ducks
its head and plummets
with barely a ripple,
below the surface.

i am synthetically proofed
against water,
against wind,
and i choose
to walk among both.
does this proofing
allow me further access,
or do my desires
of denial keep me
always apart?
the rain always finds
a way in,
no matter our methods
of separation.
i look at
the place on the water
once occupied
by bird.
i feel the place
in my insides
that once you occupied.
that still bear your
oily sheen.
all of you, and
one of you,
floating atop.
graceful,
sleek. pointed
though not sharp.
all of you,
one of you,
ducking beneath
your layers,
taking yourself.

the wind does not
try to get in, but
it will.
the rain is not
bothered by your
defenses.
the bird surfaces
a few feet from where
it escaped,
a silver of fish
flashing in its beak.
a drip of rain slides
from the brink of my hood,
silently falls
in front of my eyes,
you,
all of you,
inside it.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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