Bird (Poured Composition II), 1943
The easy wave of bird wings as they glide
Betrays their tangled path, just as the slowness of the sky
Can often be confused with silence.
What the surface yields at a given moment
Advances through a higher, inconceivable order
While appearing to dissolve.
The bones protrude —
Hearts that form dumb arrows —
Brutal insects fight the trajectory
Of uncompromising gravity,
Working for the dark fin of the moon.
The sandy sky
Splinters into plates, it curves away
Like the wing of a beach receiving the sea,
While the clouds run in splatters,
Like feathers in a deathly flutter.
Armies of bird spread like pine needles, dancing for fish,
Knotty streams of motion,
They hang in the wind, turn downward
Before rising in circles, their vapor trails
Pouring plasma seines upon the horizon,
Ignorant detailings of the void,
Illustrations of the mind's seeking
Against what's seen and not known.
