Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2012 v11n1
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[Something of occupation]

Something of occupation, something about
      withdrawal. The lecturer said
that when the bevy wings or lands together—
whether there’s music attached at all, if it
      goes, where it goes to go undone,
whether there’s agreement to flight–from—
      the question’s wrong.
To die, an emergency. To die by emergency.
      A form of this is beauty.
Like blossom. More like shouting from one
      end of a lake to another.
Like beating on the lake’s tin surface. Beauty
      partly heard is its emergency.
You should know. What our voices called for?
      The house like a boat et cetera.
This is what we wanted back. Sea–flake shaken
      from her bruised frame:
Blossom–in–a–wind, Terror–which–we–wing–upon.    

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