1

In the evening
haze darkening on the hills,
purple
of the eternal, a last bird
crosses over, ‘flop, flop
adoring
only the instant.

2

Nine years ago,
in a plane that rumbled all night
above the Atlantic,
I could see, lit up
by lightning-bolts jumping out of it,
a thunderbird
formed like the face
of my brother, looking nostalgically down
on blue,
lightning-fisted moments of the Atlantic.