becoming a loon

Donning its feathers
I felt its skin
And all the solemnity
Of spots and stars.
Wearing the flippers
I could swim deeper
And with it’s lungs
I could last longer
In the depths
And catch a fish
And see the seaweed
Through the sea,
And see the world
From the grave
And the death
That still happens there.
It was its eyes
Those goggles
Where all the world is red
And life may well be dead
But you continue onward.
At last its wings and flight
But air could not be water
And that is when
My throat took up
The merry song
The death bell rung
Of the world withal
The Loon’s call.