Tender Helicopter

Who knows how many of us 
                                                     you’ve killed, dead set 
on what flows beneath, your mouth 
                                                              a thin arrow 
drilling our fevered interior. Delicate

dagger, imperial 
                                fly, you trail like halos 
clouding martyrs’ heads, your wings a music 
planes mimic. Older 
                               than war, you vanquish

arrogance. For once, in Moscow, surrounded,
I surrendered to you, 
                                     sparrow-sized, building
barrows in my bareness with your longing, leaving

a pinch of yourself in every conquest. Prone, 
I’ve smashed a constellation 
                                                    of you to silence 
your words, wine-dark stars on my white wall. For once

I praise you, shackling 
                                      me to my skin, my blood 
lover, my tender helicopter, lonely drone.