Posctard #2

(for M.)

In the mornings walk to work the slouched banyan and the canal I saw a giant carp in there once. More often an orange flash or two it might be goldfish it might be Fanta. Always a few signs on the roads’ shoulders of what’s gone frogs flat and crisping. Several days and their bodies evaporate to shells rattle like bottles. Some days a cat mouth open eyes in focus somewhere behind me. Today a bird’s wing a mynah’s wing spread out showing off its white pause in all that black busy in its perfect indifference. The pause tries to tell me where the rest of the bird has gotten to watching its blood seep invisible into black. Yellow markings under the eyes the reddening beak too cheerful too absent maybe now it is under a coconut imitating moss. The wing doesn’t miss its bird it is a peacock it stretches itself out and is perfect in its arch its tattered meaty edge. And the pause is silent after all.