Shackles

I will return to that land of cursed feathers

Photo by Roberto Nickson on Unsplash

I sat in the sea, breath from the west
crashing my chest, where water was the same
inside and out. I sat there staring east,

watching my life, those time zones away,
peaceful among the igneous and sacrificial stones,
where they cut thieves and tied them to the rocks,

sharks feasting on their coral painted flesh.
Where a line of sunburned men built a temple
in three days, stones still warm in the sun.

We drove into the desert and searched
for coconuts to quench our thirst.
Nothing but dried husks, no milk to give,

so we climbed the snow to visit the stars
and suffocated with the great sun gods.
I will return to that land of cursed feathers,

palm fronds and candlefish, unrusted,
unshackled like flowers thrown from a volcano,
a vapor of flame like a jet engine made to carry.

© Trapper Markelz 2021

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