His canticles are sails
that glide in a sea of a song,
an amalgamation of hyaline notes snared
against music staff. Look there, a treble clef
mouse, alto mole, an octave
sparrow for sorrow.
All impaled on a Blackberry spike,
in turn a knife in a Firethorn brier.
Or perhaps left impinged on a barbed wire
thrum, bristling with sharp metal
thorns for the noosing of newts,
birds full of tuft, and for the flaying of
distracted hearts that succumb.
Don’t let his black half-mask
bandanna disguise detract you of
any speculative surprise. Even though
he’s a soulful soprano, with instinctual
vocals of hiss, clack, click, and flat guiro rasp.
He’s joyfully seen, in his choice of haven,
with a skull full of craving,
conjure, stealth then hunt to impale.
Don’t think of taming the butcher birds
high pitched shriek or his fierce heart.
As well, don’t succumb to his appeal,
and ways, or his sweet choirboy aria.
Reserve in your reason, he’s a
minuscule feathered Basilisk,
but for a quirk of nature,
absent the gifting of fire.
Our deceit is not rooted in loving his song,
nor our amusement or vigil of sighting,
it’s in his phantom good looks, not his knell.
Let’s be thankful we are not Lilliputian
in stature, it’s our winged heart he
would plunge, then fasten to spike
in a Crown of Thorn bramble or briar.
Dan A. Cardoza has a Master of Science Degree in Counseling from California State University, Sacramento. He is the author of two Chapbooks, Nature’s Front Door & Expectation of Stars. Partial credits include: Amethyst, Ardent, Better Than Starbucks, California Quarterly, Curlew, UK., Entropy, Esthetic Apostle, Poetry Northwest, The Quail Bell, and Vita Brevis.