it goes to jingling pieces
like a silver mirror
broken into tiny bits.
Perhaps its wings are made of glass--
perhaps it lives down in a dark, dark cave
and only comes up
to warm its wings in the sun....
It's cold in the cave--
no matter how you cover yourself up.
Little girls sit there
dressed in white
and the dolls in their arms
all have white handkerchiefs
over their faces.
Their shadows cannot play with them...
their shadows lie down at their feet...
for the little girls sit stiff as stones
with their backs to the mouth of the cave
where a little light falls off
the wings of the silence
when it comes down out of the sun.

: :

Moon catches the flying fish
as they dive in the bay.
Flying fish
spin over and over
slippity-silver
into the water.