Blue Lion

We measure air’s history from a tube
Stuck through the heart of a blue lion,

Watching as it enters the silence of stones
In metal spirals, awaiting what centuries of ice can tell us,

We are transient yet leave much behind
And rise in the clarity of glass,

What is invisible, imperceptible is captured
In an air bubble and preserved like a gesture through time,

What two hands have fused is instantly universal
And we watch the birds for answers or forebodings;

We look for replies in the stomachs and on the slick black
and white coats of emperors,

We are agitated as chunks collapse into ocean.
We have much in common; we are both of water

And we both hang by a thread.