FALL 2013 (Issue 80)
 

Charles Wyatt

Feathers

The Gerfalcon and Jerkin, the Falcon and Tassel-gentle, the Laner and Lanaret, the Bockerel and Bockeret, the Saker and Sacaret. . . Isaak Walton

Of these feathers we make the fumes of dreams –
Their heavy wings fold and spin –
All that ticks is not a clock, was not once
a child, a spirit, a haunted house, a hook.

Gerfalcon and Sacaret, grackles and the gentleman in black.
Evening beneath blue trees,
beneath a song of blue trees, of Bockeret,
of dog tooth moon wading the sky,

of the smooth stone above (beneath) Tassel-gentle,
both missile and missal, both mud and moss –
not Stanyel, not Ringtail, nor Raven, nor Buzzard,
Kite, Forked Kite, Bald Buzzard, mask of likeness –

We weave thee, feather, pluen, featherdriver, loosener,
feat feather, looke how well my garments sit upon me.
And out into the wind my line sends thee
to arrest a fish’s dream of sky, unfeathered sky.