Mad wings beat―
hover, peep, tumble
from fairy tale, Easter basket.
It knows it should fly.
How did it stray from the line?
I chase, bent down.
Hands stretched.
Come to mama.
Life flashes before my eyes;
friendly persuasion.
Can I keep it?
O! gosling mine―
dark precision drops from the sky
pulling silent pink ribbons
gripped with no emotion.
image: Chair With the Wings of a Vulture, 1960, Salvador Dali
