Requiem 2 Poem by Jean Bernard Parr

Its sad hooking fish
in the evening
almost like the sun
daren't watch instead
knits long shadows
from fleece scraps
blown onto barb wire
there is this silver thing
garnished with grass on fire
gasping, curiously,
not for want of air,
silver exclamation mark
minus the dot
surprised to be not
only skull-crushed dead
but jerked out of an
atmospheric medium
imagine if we were
plucked from stars
and instead
placed in celestial jars

it is the likes of us
with our Polaroid vision
that does for him
me coming here
in that modern prison
of complicated car,
somehow
we lose our way since flint

as I look at this trophy
digital snap, there is
an unbridged gap
over unknowable flow
and a feeling that
its all a bit unfair, this
oyster world
we rough out for fun
then smooth
with a natural glow