and though I’ve made so many plans
when I look in the mirror by accident

before a shower a small bird tumbles
down the stair forgetting about wings and so

we come to this moment when momentous
things may be mouthed into the shabby mirror

of the sky and from the neighbor’s apartment
something like a snort or sigh

dear friend, we’re it not for the tears held back—
but no, let me start again. After all, it is spring
and the half-clinging leather of newly uncovered

corpses satisfies the flies. But that’s not it either.
Somewhere around here there is a small book from
the past that I’ve carried for years and never read.

though the team was broken up we still hoped that somehow we would triumph over the league of loners though we were weak and needed supplies and spicy food with which to regain our competitive edge and as the day finished drawing obscene doodles in the clouds through the gaps in the tall buildings we occasionally glimpsed the blimps of our enemy scanning for weaknesses to exploit though this all feels like ancient history since the hastily written but iron-clad armistice ushered in the new golden age no one really wanted