In the wonder of falling

a blossom unraveled in pale light

from retreating corners.

Wings clashing cross the moon

sleepers in a stunned mobile.

Wire boxes blaring their

sacred repetitions.

In a skeletal foot-prop

throne of moss, of spent bibles, of snow:

one runny eyelid

cups the spitting sun

my shadow walks a balcony that's gone

threads gather her wig like a golf course

one rotting name.