Poem #1 4/19/2011

Scripted

Someone down the line
rattles off the same words
he tells me every time,

and I can see him --
his eyes, beautiful and
empty in the blank glow

of a monitor,
flicking out its poison
tongue and freezing him in place.

He remembers it
now and again, the bird
that once lit up the room,

remembers how her
towering sparksong
drove away the darkness,

but now he wanders
lost in the neon cave,
clinging to that same line

like a trail of crumbs
luring him backward
into the dragon's mouth.

I want to touch him,
reach through the receiver
and stroke his thinning hair.

"There, there," I would say,
"it's all right, little bird.
I, too,
        once had
                      a soul."