Anything? about the
passing of my days,
let alone the hubris that
I own them, anyways?
Okay. I saw the emu
west of Gloriette again—
ever scoping for its mate,
a now to codify a then.
You nod in recognition
as if the bird’s a star,
strutting to indulge
a sense of who we are.
Imagine that it knew
the gleaming of my eye
from when I paused
before, flighty passerby.
To think it’s moved a
thousand miles a year
within a chainlink fence,
to wonder why it’s here.
Wait in faith until a
hard-to-figure croak,
indicating something of
an early time we spoke.
I fear a future walk
will find the emu gone—
Schönbrunn swears to
God the glory will go on.
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