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 dirgethese bent steel limbs, snarled wire brains
half-sunken, fanned down the slopedredge memories not actually
remembered, but somehow reminiscentof sad probability, of Jonah drowned
of whales mired dry without reason:of man washed gasping from the sky
never to return.