A Carrier-Pigeon's time-bending mission. |
The Theory of the Carrier-Pigeon A boy wearing a tunic stained brown lets me go I leave two in-bitten marks on his hand, A parting gift to remember me by. I fly low enough to see my way Over the scattered thatched roof villages With roofs mawed open to receive the sunlight Little wind-up cattle running in fields Made green and copper by the dying sun. Still, I fly on To other dimensions yet to be, Yet to come. Now, where am I? I see knights fighting on horseback For Kings none believe in Toiling on back of sweating horses, Falling in the mud full of blood. Flying on to brush-stroked sunrise I see Bruges bathed in pink Skim the canals, flutter the water with birdwing There I pass by Van Eyck's window See the Arnolfinis standing there Clad in fine regalia. I am a bomber now, Flying over Britain fields Heart a whirring motor Upchuck the bombs from my chest For soon I must rest. Transformed into a plane With modern pterodactyl wings Rolling in spumes of cloud I see my destination now! A man in a wheelchair Beetling on the lawn Arm outstretched to recieve the news I carry A corollary To Stephen Hawking, sitting. He says: "Finally! Proof of the Multiverse, Proof of the Theory of the Carrier-Pigeon!" |