Friday, June 18, 2010

A Singular Eider

It is odd that this poem offers well oiled feathers. I of course mean the oil that comes from the glands that the waterfowl use to preen and waterproof their feathers. I do not mean the plumes of ancient hydrocarbons found floating in the ocean after an accident releases them. I do not mean the reservior under pressure in old rocks. I do not mean the oil in old rocks as they are turned under to cook and turn huge deposits of biomass into hydrocarbon soup and sludge where once the biosphere lived. I do not mean that kind of oil at all.

A Singular Eider

Floating in twilight,
well oiled feathers hold me up
though my heart still sinks.

Are there words to say?

A solitary ocean
replies, gives solace.

June 7, 2009 11:24 AM


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

Get Your Own Visitor Map!