18

The bird articulates upon the air.
Bone frame and the pinioned quills
That speak a mass beyond the frame,
The back's piano-strings puckering,
Tensile, as it beats—against
The fall. An angel is a marionette.
As time is only found in motion,
Motion necessary even in stases
Of the most fundamental particles
—Even quarks falling in the dark
Beat between possible manifestations—
So the falling skeleton is soft
And articulate in its soft motion
As it falls, borne up on the air—
The air manifesting bones—no strings.