We would have sung the spirit song

We would have flown to Paris,
but the wind beneath our wings couldn't hold you up
so we fell, like feathers into the water.
But you can't swim so we would have floated,
the salt water like pillows beneath our spines.
The currents would have guided us to an island
where our lips would have dripped with guava juice,
and our teeth would tear the flesh of fish coaxed to land by the sound
of your serpent-tongued song.
The ash in our hair would have glittered like two thousand miles of
stars and our eyes like glass marbles in the sand
rolling and playing until they
drifted back out to sea and sunk to the shell-cushioned ocean floor.
The natives would have found us in a century our so,
and wondered what tragic sea burial we witnessed, what souls were sacrificed
for what worldly treasure did we pay the price.
And your bones would have been played like xylophones and mine like hollow flutes
or hung to clatter against each other in the wind,
our banging friction could be music once again,
and our marble eyes and chipped teeth would adorn women's
collarbones and men's ankles,
and we would have been laughing all along with our hearts afloat under other's wings,
singing the seabreeze spirit song.