The Forgetting Begins...

Today the 'sigl-di-gwt'
became a wagtail.
I watched closely
as the stream's printing press
moved the day's newspapers
down form the mountains
to be torn up
in the village's shredder.

The wagtail didn't care -
he was self-assured
as before,
bowed deeply
to the light and the stones.
He didn't seem
to be a swifter bird
despite having fewer
constants to carry.

The world swallows
squealed overhead,
their wings like a corkscrew
opening the sexy wine
of the evening.
Their cry
is an integral part
of my soul,
their energies
are deeper than language,
or silence, or pain...