May 13, 2008

Cruz del Condor

Written by Quan Barry

Read by Davis McCombs

Black knife, black wish,
the thing comes over the canyon wall
a single black slit

in the sacred heart of the sky,
the long black sentence of its body
the length of the cross,

pure bird,
both animal and symbol,
the tips of its wrought iron wings

serrated, cruel,
and when our guide tells us
to open our arms,

throw our pain out to it,
I think of how we lost everything
two people can have,

and as the bird soars overhead —
its belly night-black with youth,
I wish it my suffering,

this hardening in me,
I give the bird
with its tearing feet

my pain, and for a moment —
Jesus, pray for us,
it’s enough just to see it.