by Glenn McPherson

after Aeschylus

When morning arrives black wings
Finally leave you.

The downdraft stumbles, turns
For a moment, startled by

A child’s cough,
And the woman’s face, blue

As though burned, ice-like,
Beneath a frozen river.

In the new bathroom
Tiles are blank haiku –

Shadow stalls
On a cold web’s quiet

Unlit altar. Patiently,
Gold light comes in through

A slight issue in the boulevard
Sticking like egg shell

To pale fingers
You hold, warming them against your breast.

One box at a time
Is a womb filled

With earth and left
On the bank, high in bullrushes

Waiting for twilight fires as black swans
Stir in a dark pasture.