Tit! tit! cries the banished bird,
eunuch in a suit of pretty armor,
wheeling through the restored ruins, bathed
in a blue light that dilates and is unique
until one realizes that the outside is let in.
(Dresden feeds the senses
but not the blue and ominous sky,
seen through windows vaulting where no roof is,
only an echoing off the underwater
tiles of its gymnasium.)
There is no roof, if only one looks up.
From purgatory to the bloodied wrists
of a lover, this moment, prolonged,
carries its own music: to wake
from a deep sleep and find those loved eyes
waking also. The sky benign, forgotten.