I am preliminary art. I am an appetizer bird.
I am what’s destined to be drawn
before the main dish can be served.
I am a quickly fashioned creature
made of drying turquoise green – that is,
the marker from which you’ve now seen
the color that I carry into flight
just lost its cap: the man who used it,
dropped it, lost it, cannot find it, and it won’t
come back: foredoomed, we must assume,
to die the slowest driest death a cap-less
marker can expect in arid summer air and heat
and light: in August’s haughty disregard
for markers and their plight. So I have quickly,
with what’s left of its green-turquoise ink,
enjoyed the last propinquity to it
the marker can provide before it’s died.
And here I fly with it, before your sight,
if not for long. Pretend I am a swan.
Consider this its song.