She recalls they
drove through the swamps…
that is where flamingos live.
Immense moors
a borderless region.
The still waters
are peach tinted
packed with miniature shrimps
the birds gulp alive.
Those small critters
make their feathers rosy
like dreams.
They drove
through the swamps
until dark.
The road was a ribbon
squeezed among mirrors, scarlet.
She’s quite sure the birds
made a noise
when they lifted.
First a shuffling
like tearing pages and pages.
Then a cry
getting distant.
Gyroscope Review - page 8!