by John McKernan
They like to float & squeak Change colors
In upturned battle helmets full of rain water
They will stare at the clouds
Their eyes clicking shut Then open
On erotic images flowing together in blue sky
At the important moment they change color
From a hue of dry earth to a tint of wet soil
It’s a form of death they are used to
Passing forever between water & air
I like to look at them in the winter
Frozen in the marble bird bath
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