Crane Above A Canyon River Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Thin stretched neck
flying in squiggles of air
sketched and dragged,

an arrowed cross piercing sky,
wings brushing edges
of a blue-sprayed space,

the azure when sky is sea
flipped over to hang
beneath a feathered ball of sun.

Crane, steer your wheels
quickly, as I wait
for you for a lift to ride me

to sky's mantle hidden
behind clouds weaving
a winged mantle, the crimson

cloak to shoot you
back to earth deep
down in a canyon gorge, a river

throwing back to your eyes
a full silhouette of me,
the broken mangled man
stranded by a canyon wall,

this slippery ladder
pushing me back, each time
I climb a step
on smooth slippery rock.

(ii)

Crane, fly down
with the ladder of your stretched
wingspan, your shoulders
the only wall that will lift me high.

Fly down here. O nose-dive
into the bouquet
on my center table

pushing me deep back
into my couch, my living room
walls squeezing me
into the mouth of a tight space,

a dazzling river of sun rays
flowing with me

between close-elbowed
furniture growing
yellow-crowned trees,

bowing tall lights
oozing with yellow blood
flipping out lime stars to show
you the way
to an empty bowl

of me climbing
a canyon wall pushing me back
into a gorge, a river by your feet

in this house drifting me
between growing canyon walls.