william davis

flight pattern

A star fell, bloodying a furrow for afterthoughts
because a maiden voyage makes illegitimate oceans

A host of lightbulbs angled and describing
the lasting language as birdsong in staves.

The unvarnished heart muscle arcing in
a languid trapeze. A slow march, a whisper.

The chambers wax abundant in winter coats, like bellies
at the empty hour before a magpie's funeral.

Small creatures tame a rattled breath, loosen
their trolley wheel teeth in the damp earth.

Once conceived, a migration carries twice
the weight and heft from season to swansong.

I am waving, you see. Waving at you. Seen against
the sky behind the lights.





Will is a nurse, poem scribbler and immutable fire escape.