To begin with, it was beautiful.
A solar flare. A break
in the beacon-speak of lights.
All seabirds and sailors
blinked in perfect unison. From chutzpah
into flail, from hum
into sizzle crash,
the come-apart
was counterpunch, the wheeze
of pressurized air was heraldry,
a droop
in the fuselage
that focuses the heart.
Now come marauder, come meal,
be erected in their honour.

Come reducer, sob-machine, emperor
of sulk and sunlit private moments.

Reckoner. Decision. Come sprinkle your storyboards
across their country notions. The friendliness exhibit zeroes in.

They'll see parts of you in beaver dams, pocket lint,
school lunches. Come berate their histrionics. But before that,

come be heard. Be soluble, smothered,
pulled apart and pummelled clean.

Come retrieve your beauty. I believe
in beauty, in the
and pander of the word.