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Ocean Feathers
I am a bird washed ashore,
Dead with soaked feathers.
An ink blue color.
Waves lap behind me,
Cold and gray like the sand and sky.
Lulling and eternal.
A net scoops me from the ground,
Hands pick up fallen blue feathers.
Water drips from my dead body.
I am carried,
Taken far from the sea.
No longer can I hear the waves.
Thrown into a great bin,
Cold steel for my corpse’s heaven.
Sand and stench cling to my feathers.
I am brought to a place where no sand meets water,
But where faded plastic flowers mark my grave.
Under a sick green sky.
My body dead, my carriage hollow,
Yet my soul flies above the waters.
Ink blue feathers carrying the breeze.
In death,
I am free.
