A Lady Who Knows

Stairway to Heaven Sonnet
     by Denise Duhamel & Maureen Seaton
        
Florida's state bird is the crane, by which we mean
green, orange, and yellow construction cranes that hang
a mile or more above us on the beach and swing their pointy
arms all around like slow-mo highwire ballerinas.
They stand while they sleep and each weekday morning
call out their metal duets then begin their pointe work.
I ask my love: do you think that crane would crush
us in our bed like palmetto bugs if it fell north?
Of course it would, my amour says and that night
wakes up screaming, flapping very human arms.
Sometimes we feel watched over as we grab our
water wings and float like the dead on top of the sea.
Sometimes our necks ache from craning at the cranes
that sway to Led Zeppelin at dawn, all flute and wonder.