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