Glenn Bach
3 from: Atlas Peripatetic
42
the flurry of birdsong and a whipping of marks
that grow louder and more precisestronger and more exact
the invisible choir of throat and basinwith the gust of the song of the bird
the choir of the throat of the birdthe choir of birdthroat and beaks
camouflaged in the foliageof ficus microcarpa Indian Laurel Fig
the flock of birds in proportionto the flurry songs of bird
to the troop of birds and the straw fire of song
75
blind transfer
of air over thespine but first
the vert stallsin the mini-
air grinding airon the extension
in the fish eyeview of the stucco
wall ride you kickgrab and grind
50-50 in thisbackside air front-
side air headplanted ass planted
and transferredto wall ride stalled
bench—it was a fluke
the reverse hoopin the alley grinding
plates to a toe-stop, the death
of a kiss—two feet one foot
grab stall plant headbail watch me
hurt myself notquite but I love
my helmetand sometimes
the wheel bites back
121
bird very close
feathers forelimbs hollow bones
very close these beaks without teethbrushing away particles
very close for the cloacal kiss
in less than a secondbreath traveling in one direction
oxygen the same inside as out
these passerinesthese song birds
these perching birds so close
I can touch them through the tangle of leavesthrough the thicket of green
through the singing tree
through the warm blood