dead birds

moon owls
fire dragon

naive boy wondering

tugging his
little red wagon
over some dusty road

just an empty load
of horizons
beneath his feet

his modern hair curled neat

his melting ice growing warm
to the touch

they don't say very much

together they skip ahead
following a trail dipped in lead

and crashing on a sandy shore
where dead birds wash their wings

a drunken sailor sings.