|Aug/Sep 1998 Poetry|
Old Plane Crash
The most urgent priorities
don't leave direct evidence:
ivoried teeth and bones
or urgent love notes from the dying.
But this peeled, rusted skin
this blasted glass a glittering dirge
these bent steel limbs, snarled wire brains
half-sunken, fanned down the slope
dredge memories not actually
remembered, but somehow reminiscent
of sad probability, of Jonah drowned
of whales mired dry without reason:
of man washed gasping from the sky
never to return.