Missed Connections I. At every estuary I ask for you. We had a laugh wading near the mangroves, waiting for the sun to come up. You were a pink lamp in the dawn, a rococo pink, with a body contoured like a heron and feathers bunched up like flounce on a flamenco dress. In our stretch of swamp, silhouetted tortoises slid past us, a speck of regret in their eyes, and you found a little knot of fish to spoon up with your spatula bill, trilling a riff of bullfrog-grunts and surfacing with your mouth fringed with fronds. In spring, I will be skimming across the lower latitudes, looking out for you. Let’s not worry about probability or the weather. If you read this, what is the weather to us? II. With the eggshell tiling of your belly draped in mud and your immaculate scales glinting like ceramic in the sun, you lolled (strategically?) near me, your tail, articulate and comely, sweeping half moons along the swamp bank. You smelled of dropworth and mouldering larvae, and I blew networks of clinging, bottle green bubbles across your cheeks. You showed off your snout and curled your forelimbs around mine; for a full minute, you and I were entwined. III. I saw you blinking your wings
SIXFOLD POETRY SUMMER 2013
Sar ah Gir agosian
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