Field Report
Wings
Hollow as a bird bone in a broken wing
Weighted to the earth with nothing left to sing
Just rasping for your mother, coughing up gravel
Waiting on a brother who was cleared for travel
South
Get these rocks out of my mouth

The air begins to change like the
Current over the wings of a Dreamliner
Over the sea
The captain, he was up all night
Talking with the ghosts and
Singing with the angels til they
Touched his lips with coals
Cauterized
Get these rocks out of my mouth

Soaring close to God until his
Love melts my wings and the
Emptiness
Of space
Smells like paraffin and gasoline and
Color coded cash and coins
The currency of dreams
I’m all out of money babe
It’s as dire as it seems
Get these rocks out of my mouth