Two Poems by Gibson Fay-Leblanc
Seventeen pairs of wings –
shadows without bodies in morning light –
settle on a flat school roof and a needle-less pine.
A chant that falls into shouts and calls,
each small muscular body giving every cell
to sound that wakes for blocks.
A few, then twelve or ten, fall off,
then all save one atop the pine,
urging them on, insisting.
His call is the bass-line
they all pick up again—din rising quick
from earth and lake and beetle in the grass.
He knows this drum
like his own beak. He has seen
and will speak to the part of us that listens.
Reading Hart Crane on the Internet
Right after For we can still love the world ,
a virtual square entitled Exotic Girls
appears: in leopard print bikini,
she covers her tan with three triangles
the size of paper footballs
made by eighth graders, reverence in her stare.
You can click her back to the ash heap
filled with girls on hoods
with six-packs – and finish the poem
or choose her place of origin from the list:
Tahiti, Barbados, St.John – see how long
until an offer is made, payment required.
How long will it be before a hologram
saunters into the bedroom—you and your lover
speaking the language you invented, or think you did—
and asks you both with wetted lips if you'd like
a Budweiser? She will be wearing nothing
or next to it, to make you forget
everything and your lover cover herself
as if the true Eve has appeared.
You wonder if we can still love the world
and when Crane stopped. You see him tilt
another rye—the one
that will make his dive over the railing
perfect, in its way– the Atlantic's black
covering his entrance
before anyone can miss him.