I thought of it in London
when the rain was falling

in that syncopated, multi-
tudinous way the rain likes

to fall on the century’s
pavements and courtyards.

I could see so clearly its
patterned back and worn black

knobs. I could smell the
crumbs burning on the coils

that glowed red when the great
silver wings were opened wide.

It was as beautiful as anything
they keep in the V&A, but I

imagined it now—layered in rock
and root in the gravel pit—its

frayed diamond cord looking just
like an occasional garter snake.