Tuesday, March 25, 2014



swept up
 in this swirling
  Sunday siren’s mass
   beating of a thousand
    hearts like the bioluminescent
     swarm of saltwater’s dark matter
       pulling me through a fluid map-maze
        toward a child caught without compass
          somewhere between oceanic depths and
           the feathered thunder of wings    we fly
           three thousand miles on broken sestinas
          and prayers of ancestors back to that slice
         of land squeezed between an open vein of
         hungry saltwater and a backbone of ice
          a blue dot on the map just to rock that girl
           sing her starry stories made of constellations
            show her a home etched somewhere in the
             mystery of her tough turtleheart    we can’t
              navigate that map without vortex-
                generating wings and gills for breathing
                   saltwater angel and mermaid aim for
                    landmarks shining like stars salmon
                      berries trilliums Cedar Waxwings
                                     and her pulse  beating
                                      hard as wings  know 
                                        know that in some
                                          DNA saltwater
                                       everywhere Sunday
                                     is a flock of starlings
                                       who don't need a
                                               just sky

Deborah A. Miranda

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