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How To Live Like An Extinct Bird
reply to a poem by Andrew Baron
The second after
the last one flew
I listen to the sound
the empty
branch makes
white and quiet
same sound
the full moon
makes as it rises
in the sky of the mind
Valkyrie
You were the ghost child in your dreams,
her silence, and her black flag
haunting the treeline of their second hand wishes,
their marketplaces, the space inside a spruce tree
that remembered you and sang,
empty windows where your reflection fell and stood again
silt through silt, aimless and extinct,
while you reveled in your injuries
your patience and magnificent disdain,
curses and beauty
that buries itself in light. Take my disgust
for their patented despair, their parasitic
languages, as tribute
to your turbulent blue universe,
your ravens, and your whirling way—
the ashes of their cherished cages that I am
without a trace
as your day comes
Crazy Grace
Came out of left field
and made me a new creature
Invisible pilgrim
riffling the imaginary galaxies
I felt my blood turn
luminescent in my veins
Little sweeting
trip no more
but come back and visit me
whenever you’re in town
Beatitude
Gifted with a thirsty breeze
a ravening sirocco
Whatever remains
is yours to keep
Which one are you now
coming closer or falling away
Not knowing
so the morning light can find me
Go on being
a child of the sky
This is your appointed place
in the global economy
Rich Cronshey lives in the Intermountain West and works as a psychotherapist.
photo: Henry Cherry