Punched loose from the fabric
one windy night
never came back from around
the dresser corners and sweater arms
lips speaking to limbless movement
chair positioned in the hilt of the rocket's thrust
I am a grain storm's
rigged side of dusk on fire.

Parenthesis tip the water bug's path.
Slim girders of an iron road
tucking light down to its wrapper of rock
and cloth licked frame
form's rake
pole-vaulting the grave-hole.