THIS IS HOW I ROMANTICIZE DEATH Poem by peter cooley

Back behind tomorrow, where we will end,
hundreds of pelicans are pulled from oil,
slickered with the black skin they've just put on.
Hosed, preened, they may even survive a time.

Years I have watched the pelicans descend
over the gulf I've come to call my home.
When they're gone, can I name the light alone?

That arc they make when they dive for a fish-
how will I remember their bodies' descent
across the air? The arc of a rainbow,
then the ascent, bill full, then the sunset.

When I imagine, I see them all black.
Then I see black glide though the black water.