Bridge Of Moon Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

In its lonely
nest behind dark
curtains
of a flowing
river night,

a bird talks
to a poet
stuck in the hole
of a full stop

that bores
a shallow hole
and floats
along a line of dots

cutting off
memory
like an eclipse.

The nightingale
eyes
the sunken-eyed
canary

for a song
with wings of wind
and afterfeathers
of a volcano's mouth,

that crusty mist
layered
with tunnels
of uncoated smoke,

when the sun
has run out
of daisy feathers

to spray
the world
with starry
squiggles

from a rolling
asteroid
leaving snowballs
on a quill's tip.

(ii)

How the poet's
quill is dry,
but finds a night
blue inkpot

perched above
in a brightening sky
to soak
his nib again,

as black clouds
shed their feathers
for giant
daisy wings
of an egret.

O egret, dive
down with showers
of moon.

Flay yourself
into
an asteroid's light

from flashes
of a drifting moon
at midnight,

when a poet steals
a poem
from feathers
of fur,

a white cat
mewling
in the breeze,

as sky bleaches
into specks
of the wandering
white albatross
of moon

that swoops
down with crystal
wings
on the moon's
mooing flanks,

its horns tilted
for a breeze
to blow

into the poet's ears
linking the world
with a viaduct

and a pontoon bridge
cutting off
roaring waters
through COVID 19's
riverbed.