the large crow that resides slow
and steady black rustle feathers
whisper flight, the dusk rattle
in my throat: it takes so long
to live.

I've forgotten all my songs. The garden
rows like swamped in ruins. Dust
in gates, mesh wire swinging. We'd
cling to what if we'd only known.
She thought this to herself before
bed every night for a week.


mesh-water in the air, the light
webs unmarshed. waiting for June.
the acid lake winks under ash, under
motorized wings: eye snaps capture
trees like glass, like little singed machines
who haven't any hearts.