Chris Vannoy in Kickass Review
Neruda
Fires of birds
swim from the dust of his feet
and he tells me
the journey's just begun
His socks lie warm
near my bed
next to locomotives of steaming villages
in a pot of stones and blue sky
A stream of feathers and clocks
ask me where he has gone
I tell them
he is sleeping in libraries
between oranges and melons
I tell them
tomorrow he will walk
in countrysides of mirrors and dreams
When they find him
their mouths will be filled with canaries
a dance of bones
will whistle
when he is near