O have you seen the scissor-tail
which glides alone in Spring?
O have you seen the ache of frail
and utterly delighted wings?
O have you heard the sigh and crush
of air as bluejays crisply arc to limb?
And how are we to know, how,
dear Sanchuniathon, if we are Habiru
or friend?
I see the green herm!
and like a pale blue jelly!
It's brain has come outside!
And inside the brain are black
and wriggling worms!
Of titanium!
O Sanchuniathon, were that there were
great and corkscrewing hanging garden velodromes
where lovely singers cum would be divers might stand
and croon before they fell, deep, down
into that well, a receptacle for
greatly skilled
diver singers
who might sing songs
of frontier chemistry
or tonal elasticity.
