Two pylons
Loomed above her lens,
Green tinged
And tubular,
And even though they were unused
To being viewed
From such a peculiar angle
They managed to
Stand still
In the airstream
To reveal their top feathers
For the benefit
Of future studies.
And what fine plumes they bore,
Soaring above
A many pointed neck ruffle
In the shape of a
Delicate sphere,
Whose spokes
Were lightly anchored
For the air’s breath to
Outflank
And gather higher than the skyline
Of their quills,
Whereby their flighted tips
Will slip into the fingers
Of the wind
And be granted
Safe passage to other
Wild or walled
Gardens.
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