I was an eagle once, I'm sure.
I remember the feel of the air -
the subtle musk of blood-soaked hair.
My grip was death.

Now life slips away so leisurely.

I watched the clouds today -
in a movie that made me cry.
They were just like the clouds we have.

She cut my heart out -
just like she said she would.
I suppose that's what happens
when a cadaver loves a surgeon.

A breath between papers:
we are the words.

Daniel McCasoway

If you've any comments on this poem, Daniel McCasoway would be pleased to hear from you.

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