From behind I
fell upon him as
he had fallen
into her, the head
of my staff in the small
the small of his
back, the frightened
wings beating above
my ears no less
than his heart, blind
for all his open
         while the paired
fangs raised vision
all over her, unsleeping
watch of the serpent, blue
bruised poisons
that saw the final
scene exactly as it
was, a rash
of men weaving their fingers
into stolen hair, one
man strumming it out long
like the only
thread left in his coat.      

The East Village Poetry Web
Cooper Esteban