First Avenue

Canyon of rock:
spires spear the skied circumference
hung with clouds
gray as lava;
kited wings
flirt with freedom
over the myopic depths
or jet-propelled
where we rush pas those breaking petunias
where slowly death has come
to that body burdened with feathers. 

Published by Nedge, # 3, Winter 1996 Copyright © 1996 The Poetry Mission.