From what clouds, what abandoned stratosphere this huge bird
plummets, to almost touch the pavement’s crescent
that feeds sheer into the car streaming freeway?
Shrunk usually by blue distance, archetypically,
the fanning girth of wings, rim-shod with mountain white,
now show archangel-close, almost blessing
the windshield of the driving car, while crows accost him.
O those wings, working in the wreck of those pebble birds!
Like the One Word flaming down cruciformed
in the midst of littler words!
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