I thought I saw a magpie.
Came out of a pine tree.
Black and white.
What other bird
might be hereabouts
that is black and white?
I think it was black and white.
It was that fast, and the forest so thick.
Like the rest of life.
I would fly off with the black and white bird.
I would fly off with the bird that is not
black and white. That never was.
I would fly off with a bird of no color.
I would fly off with no color.
No bird.
Old age brings passive recklessness.
I ignore the name of my pilot.
Aiee Karos he seems to declare through his flames.
So he is a magpie, after all.
Brash ash-and-charcoal.
Good company for a wagtongue’s waning days.