I admit little deaths.
City lung-shards pulp cigarettes.
Dust, zero aperture.
So the causeway imitates the dial of weathervanes
My caws’ red-combed sweeping.
Eyes as the reason we can’t see, I toss
the seed into the river.
As if a penny can turn itself. In a palm,
gleaming. I become
an albeit. A black cat licks
his eye-whites clean.
A gibbet moon banana ugly.
guns skeletal and fences nothing.
Smaller, my whine pines
the taste of mud.
A tractor bleats diesel rattle
so we list ourselves.
Ribbed fern sway mistakes breathing.
No returns, a hinge
clamps each shutter. I shiver back.
In the garden, a woman
stuffs her mouth with quarters to count them.
I swallow to watch her.