Scrawny daughters of dinosaurs,
Your lovers never shut up—
Preening in streets lined with black feathers

As if every hour is the start of a new day,
And the sun won't ascend without them.

Beneath your bamboo domes
Your soft throats huddle with their
Destiny of edge and demise.

You're in hot water,
Losing every frantic thread
That failed your sad quests for flight.

Your legs stiffen without eulogies,
And your wings can’t pray their petitions
To the god of the Archaeopteryx for delivery.

Upon my return to St. Paul, immigration asks
If I've been in contact with livestock.

I want to say: "Are you kidding?
Have you ever even been to my homeland?,"

Looking out at the rising sun my breakfast