They burn me down to a cold eye
lingering in the ground.
Trees come up on pulleys and wires
bushes painting roots
infertile mountains of thought.

Pregnancies of thorn earth
crumbling heaps of sound.
Peak lips on the points
of tapering leaves.

The bars of the cage
turned to bananas.
Sodden cries from the corner basement
pushing nets of lamb's heart
scales of a curving cliff
swinging chains of caked feathers.