The
Sunbird
Settles
to its
Nest

Boys are swimming through the sun's tail, 
which is switched by abrasive waves dyed 
flamingo. The head of the sun is cardinal

from the ears down. Its pate is pink. Oh, 
as I wrote that, a flush spread to the 
hairline. The chin's no longer there.

The tail on the waves is sliced with purple. 
Oiled ibis-feathered swells make it fan 
out like a peacock's. Then, slowly

dropped and narrowed, it drags west. 
The boys' heads are hubs for scintillating 
circles. Their arms plough a waterfield

of eyes. The peckered scalp is melting-- 
there goes the last capfeather, of fain 
red down down. Down. The boys come up

almost black. They flip wet off
by the green-haired rocks, 
behind them, embered, a phoenix crown.


 =Tansy Mattingly