PTERODACTYL

The cold blue light of mid-winter day
settles like frost over a slide toward dusk,
and from the red hush at silent horizon
pterodactyl rises, removed from time;
local flocks, gulls and pigeons
scatter nightward in unthinking panic
while your neighbor's scream at the sunward sight
is lightning like thread, sewing history and dream
together in a wingspan ascension of vision
more vast than clouds or wind
but much much shorter than time.

—Lee Slonimsky

All rights to this poem belong to its author.

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