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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535678" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>That We Can Be Broken - A Bird Spirit Speaks Of Beginnings</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">.<br>Citizen! What have they done with all the air? - Victor Serge</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>1</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I began</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a bird flown down a chimney, <br>an empty house hidden in a<br>mountain valley, a night time<br>fire upon surrounding hills, <br>a moonshine still's signal flame, <br>a bootlegger's warning, <br>a silent spirit conjuring<br>drip by drip<br>metal and grain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No blue fire therein.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Suddenly spun, <br>some beckoning thing<br>wings between night's crumbled <br>brick and rusted tin, <br>white rock and<br>a wide sky, <br>braced by<br>a<br>closed<br>encircling valley.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>2</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Here<br>is a Presence<br>beyond illicit fires<br>bearing witness to evidence found, <br>remains of flight, contrived escapes<br>stopped by panes, <br>walls striped in ramming panic, <br>of ritual and a broken neck, <br>petrified wings displaced.<br>Now remote is the open space <br>they once could range.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>3</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Descending the hill in unplanned rehearsal<br>for what has become a destined association, <br>our mutual confession is invisibly drawn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A ruined one-room church appears, <br>a cemetery plot weed-hidden behind this<br>once sentinel house long remote to men and<br>as present as God, my own presence is bound<br>to his who stands confounded now as three, <br>one above grave, one within it, and me<br>in between, one eye upon him, the other<br>upon sagging dirt where bones and a<br>ragged shirt share an unexpected<br>moment of veils confused in sunlight's<br>disarray of leaves, wood, of stone and<br>shadows frozen there, not breathing<br>for us all in un-storied astonishment.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here horseflies feast.<br>Upon weathered stones are<br>only creases where once were<br>names, dates, even God's Word, <br>chiseled by a now unknown hand, <br>an impression only, one among many, <br>reduced to no plot but that of Providence<br>left to surmise swatting at Eucharistic<br>flies proving only flesh and only blood, <br>a flood of questions eventually exhaled, <br>and exhaling still, waiting beside<br>a white rock with wings, <br>ignoring fires, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">leaning into changes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>4</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>There are uses for wings -</div><div style="margin:10px 0">thoughts, <br>ramming walls, <br>and panes, <br>earnest though<br>contrived escapes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>At first midnight in stillness, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">wait.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>A white rock, <br>wings, <br>a still, <br>ignorant fires, <br>illicit spirits<br>lean into changes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>5</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>In arms<br>we carried It<br>as one does<br>a child</div><div style="margin:10px 0">yet it was<br>He who carried us, <br>both bird and man, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">who cried<br>openly<br>on the way</div><div style="margin:10px 0">for our presence<br>solid in his arms, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">he who did not care<br>who saw his tears shed, <br>head down, <br>beneath spring blossoms, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">living presences<br>within bestowing<br>strength, <br>order<br>from<br>stone and remnant wings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>6</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>How all this will turn.<br>I do not burn to know.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I only yearn here, <br>air and more, <br>of air now air <br>all the more<br>in sustained<br>moments<br>without height.<br> <br>Something returns<br>or turns inward<br>that may be climbed<br>to rest upon</div><div style="margin:10px 0">or fall again to<br>some chimney<br>life to be found, <br>itself a winged burden.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Warren+Falcon">Warren Falcon</a><div class=q>
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Citizen! What have they done with all the air? - Victor Serge


1


I began

a bird flown down a chimney, 
an empty house hidden in a
mountain valley, a night time
fire upon surrounding hills, 
a moonshine still's signal flame, 
a bootlegger's w..."></div>
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