A tongue strikes the inside of a metal mouth:
the sky splits
Beneath the gape-lip, someone grasps a braided rope,
swings his whole body, then, momentum gathers,
taut shoulders and arms,
and voice –
birds scatter, unfold as seed tossed in fresh furrows.
Every creature points to an idea of something,
none reveals. It’s a small porch, and rickety, but the sky is wild and dark silver
and it woke me from a nap.
Stuff in the yard is colliding with other stuff,
plastic bottles from the garbage picked up and knocked
against the shed, the neighbour’s ashtray and...