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Archaeopteryx, an Elegy BY GINA FRANCO As soon as possible, I will confront the wrens doings, rinse the white streaks

from the porch bricks drawing lizards from their shade, the immediate smell of water too much for all of us. But first is lunch. The remains well scatter over the driveway away from the bricks. Wrens come, crusts from our dishes make drama. Then history.

What is possible in memory is disingenuous. Limestone, impressed with the archaic smile of bone and reptilian wrists, wishbones and feathers, describes. It cups the transitional form, naturally selecting ones best side. There was the time you forgot your legs no longer could recall how to standthen rose up straight and sang

Youll come a-waltzing Matilda with me

Probably Ive been thinking of that since August. The indelible wrens grate like shovels outsideexhumed, one voice rises from wilderness, echoes, settles, rests then another, and,

between them, the keep of an unerring quiet.