STEPPING AT THE PORTAL OF BUMBLEFOOT

Downbeat of wings; dreamlike states and loss
a small mirror pressed gently through a steep-walled network of black blood
eggs on a dish no need of firearms
tree-shrouded to wait for a breeze and taxi over each child's crib
light is wiggled by patterned sheets
to build a landing field with platforms, ladders, and cubbyholes
in the fabric drunkenly

its good resonance known to drum of a roof gutter
and birds are drowned to the song
olive neurons encode the three-dimensional light fixture--
though I were a piece of paper train
and the rail on the side of the bed and two floating docks blew us in two.