Belated Saint

Oh crap, I forgot about St. Brigid. Here's my late entry.

Sanguine, his heart falls off
with a thump
like friends leaving,
their boots on black stones.

And then the crickets burn
bridges lit by wings

furiously furiously beating
little cakes of sea

till the boat dives,
the sailors blinking mild

All his hands are in flower form
-but still he sinks.

- LG, January 2009