"Ortolan

BY NATE STAINS

Vein migrations of a

bird wrapped in black

feathered with tears scented with mellow flowers

of forbidden fruits ripened with envy,

indulgence unchecked,

gras, inward feasting, gluttony, boundless,

crowing from the trees

flock of mirrors gathered here for

the passing of the highest idea bound

chains and cedars round

calling now a dirge

notes of dulce and drunkenness abound

how long, this charade of birds,

how long will your head be draped and hidden

oblivion as your friend

you cannot love the leaves on the trees when you love the

sweet scent of pity

from a shimmer of a mirror plate

forget the rest, the world cannot be a feast

no, others are Famine

and are not but bone-picked fish and rotten offal

in your eyes

why look anywhere else?

Come, drunk bird, totter as a newborn

totter as an emperor

and sing your swan-song to that reflection

down below, a perfect shape

of your vein migration.