a sun 
found blue lipped in the thrush 
lips ovaline in rapture 
with a mile of drag marks and 
waxen splinters; 
a crash of self-discovery to be sure.
neck craned up and out
tward unseen nothing 
idle mouth agape, stuck on the shape 
a garotte of a word: 
higher. 

beautiful. 
but left behind by the glassian spark 
of its clean soul.
just another broken bird
to be taken by that green tide 
by that soft,  loam sheet.
forever and ever 
amen