Feather bank stroked by nets of eyes
bulbs of flavor popping for no tongue
on the slopes of the elder trees, rootward berries
streaking a force field of pawed-at air
from the other side of a ditch
whose mouth rides a rift in the earth
and is caught sleeping in the water.

Pockets of unfolded space
in the wet of the softening leaves
a railing of bones and gagging bodies
pieces of ultraviolet light
turning to gel on unadorned corners.

The velvet of rot
tossed sky high.