javelin in 4 pieces

while the ticket-seller wakes up

from his dream of glorious blood and tourists

and polishes his shoes

a bored crow picks at the edge

of a crumbling rostrum its beak scratching out

the eyes of arum and calendula

can you imagine the twenty-first century

without the friends who murdered my laziness

my indifference to you

they forced me look for my fingerprints
and in one of them they saw your face

then made me search library after library

for instructions on how to tune the gorgeous instrument

*

I am not part of the mob that needs
the goring beyond the jeering I bring
this lance a final souvenir and hurl it

at your easr your eyes your
eyebrows your tongue
like a madwoman’s kiss

but it drifts and knits itself
into a white wing
brushed with violet

and brushes your forehead

when you feel the downy bone
and its quick heartbeat
be still for me

*

the crow has stopped scratching at the stone
and petals and flown
down to pester a young traveler
tuning her guitar

the ticket-seller more dutiful than enchanted
has taken off his immaculate shoes
and goes barefoot among the tourists
blessing their wrists with soft dry hands

Elizabeth Myhr lives in Seattle and doesn’t mind the rain. Her first book the vanishings & other poems will be published by Calypso Editions in September of this year.