Leonard

The dead pigeons flock
on the morning the poet died
How did he stay in the street
Dead!

Of course, not not-dead,
that would not do
would not yield to a bearded leer
and an upturned couch
in Lincoln's face.

With dead magazines
and newspapers
how best to start the day?
With the Danube flowing by
so not blue.

It is that voice
that bird,
all crazy
all filled with oranges
trotting back and forth twirping
"Walk on water
Walk on water.
It is a soft path.
There you will find truth"