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The helicopter drops down
in flames in a sea of wheat.
The leader is a skeleton.
The leader is a statue.
The leader is a ghost.
I met him once, I shook
his hand. We clicked like magic.
Let us think about the powder
in his ring, don’t look at
the jewel in his wife’s locket.
Let us think, for a moment, about summer.
How dawn is like peach skin
and takes you in like acapella.
The light falls from the moon
like toy guns. Don’t ask me how,
it just does.
Copyright 2017 Leonard Gontarek