The Buzzard

We of the feather guard our given kingdoms:

Gulls, my cousins, govern from cape to inlet;

Then is the dial of earth from hill to river

Clocked by my shadow.

River-realmed swan, sister hissing the lilies,

(Ah, queen throat! Ah, liquid match of my quadrants! )

Hers the green reign and bluebottle feast. For me,

White air and carcass.

But you, stumblewinged singer iambic-borne,

Forked, firelipped, foamhearted, roiling my ether,

Hear, O regent displaced, unheavened, unearthed: .

The kingdoms are taken.