The Undoing of Flight

On a bleak beach
on the far side of the leaden Atlantic
an ungainly creature –

a huge sinister crow
assembled from canvas and metal struts –
hops, hesitates,

takes a desperate run,
lifts off towards lowering clouds and
plops back onto wet sand;

runs, rises, dips,
rises again to thin cheers, and flies
a short length of

the desolate beach.
Against the swell of the decades
I want to swim that ocean,

heave great boulders
into the obscene creature’s path –
let it crash. Let their dream

founder. Maybe then
there would have been no news
from Halifax today.

One response to “The Undoing of Flight

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