The Bird of Gears

—

look up at the ceiling
at the clockwork man
at the bird of gears
iron arms clutched to his chest
canvas wings stretched thin
he hangs from the ceiling
he is the clockwork man
and he is also the bird of gears.

wires stretch down
from the white stucco ceiling,
floating as taut between the arches
and the balsa keel of the bird
as they are taut between the arches
and the brass ribs of the man;
for he is the clockwork man
and he is also the bird of gears.

the sweet yellow sunlight
filters through his paper organs
expanding the airy dust-space
motes dance between tin fingers.
the sun casts luminous black bars
these bars, shadows on the floor;
black bars from the copper spine
of the clockwork man.

the bitter blue starlight
casts no dark reflection
upon skeletal canvas wings;
it only fills the grooves
engraved in the brass beak,
filling the open mouth
of the bird of gears—
for the bird of gears eats starlight.

come, and I will tell you how long
you have been the clockwork man

come, and then I shall become
the bird of gears.