Tayfun Gülnar, Dead Bird, 2014 (etching)
A marrow-deep silence
hums its strange melody
into my ears.
Sad, un-danceable song.
Even the trees are mortal,
each consecutive ring of life
like a pen-stroke of simple luck.
The bones of deer
killed by the ravenous jaw
of wolf and winter
are scattered in the woods
like interruptions in an endless sigh.
I sleep and wake under
the white blur of their slow
return to dust.
Someone is stoking a fire
to heat a house, fanning an ember
before it’s gone.
I am a tiny, desperate
and dying flame.
God of kerosene & kindling,
please.