Wing Neck - Poem by Braden Coucher
O what wild-foul wreathes our necks
in feathers, flutters its wingspan
cross corporal landscapes of shivering derma?
What boas of winded whispers
plume in and out our mouths-mothers
of fine haired sleeping children breathing
the nectarous sweat and perfume of our napes?
Growth rings of peeling aspens swell
robuster each season of husking, burrow into circlets of seasons past,
make perch for nest and nadir.
O what wild-foul warbles in its
waking stretches this dewy morning?
What goose honks her organ song,
Finch peeps her whistle,
his throat-less whir,
sparrow coos her mate to breakfast?
O what winged-game
twines round the isthmuses
Of our soft necks, shalls our larynxes
While we burrow into one another
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