Dancing through the flicker street
little broken librarians
smarm unraveled in the smashed limbs
of immortal trees
big square mailboxes filling up with rain
driftwood porches and hazelwood eyes
the gentle who are punished
and the cruel who get to carry their pride
footrests in moss
cushion for loins and headrest of water
spirit on a hang glider of blue silk
open to the forests of fallen eggs that it falls on
in the quiet of country dreams

Warblers who made a net of noise for one another
throats cut, nobody calling