XVIII

1 December 2014
She falls sick. Poems spark. Ethereal alto calls summons. Her sad ataxy throws muscular tantrums. Sore love lyses and amorous wet membranes permutate. Rose boughs. Winter doves. Doves half-sketched in early morning build soft, maidenly avian peptides. Hummingbirds feather small protease hatcheries. She calls to owls, exhorts pardalotes to come timbre, but loons’ honest lament is her reply. Pigeon feathers, raven shit, nests – abandoned. Frightened, ill, she lisps goldfinch. Some poor lexicon of bird glimmers, demands her verse. Joyful airs from some fallen birdsong, metred like medicine. Clinical poems. Gabby chirps dance over natural arrests, charm singing courageously her tune. Strict jammer, dub utterer, rhymer! Terns also hum a mercy she calls on. O tufted jay, o dusky-green oropendola! Septic shock sets in, her passion for firethroat flares. Firethroat quotes twist tenors forth, calling death, then bracing thoughts which glands secrete, she thinks histamines, thinks adrenal. Warbler hens interest her now-crystalline storytime as though sparrows art solution. Gasps omen can’t-breathe. Sore eyes, can’t-see. Solo song lives, then isn’t, and thrushes wish grieving odes. Listen for her totemic shree.
 


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