And you watched me from above,
Your wings, burning sails
And I, a conquered city blazing, canopies down,
Bombed-out store fronts,
People fallen to shame, shell-shocked gaze,
No new strangers ambling toward my gates
With their backpacks and gauze and bottles.
You must have known somewhere among my ruins
In cinder was a cage lying on its side, door open,
Seed laid waste as chaff.
But you, aloft, circling, in the cool
From an ocean in the distance
You could not have seen
Or known was there
because you never left.
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Issue 57
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Editor's Note
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Poetry
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Fiction
Issue > Poetry
Travis Wayne Denton
Travis Wayne Denton lives in Atlanta where he is the associate director of Poetry at TECH as well as a McEver Chair in Poetry at Georgia Tech. He is founding editor of the literary arts publication, Terminus Magazine. His poems have appeared in numerous journals, magazines and anthologies. His second full-length collection of poems, When Pianos Fall from the Sky, was published in September 2012 by Marick Press.I Loved You When You Were A Small Red Bird
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