Robert Chrisman - San Francisco
Poet Bay Area Northern California
Dieseled, he has survived the spill,
tonnage hemorrhaging like poisoned blood,
webs soaked in oil,
feathers tufted in a punk’s knot.
is out. He is grounded
left leg has failed him,
long sleek lilies trail beneath his belly fold.
subtly the tide shifts. . .
catches a weak finger of current,
sudden vibrancy of life,
of water radiate like cracked glass.
look again. He has oared himself
quietly into deep water,
plunges, fletches his wings,
glints, black and white onyx,
flashpoint where two angels meet.
Robert Chrisman Copyright 2009