sometimes there’s nothing human you can do
the white sky mo(u)rning a single bird across
the courtyard bricks for a new pyramid
so where can you go how can you
think after they refuse to be
born it
won’t help
steer this weary ox from
the prized flowers won’t re
construct the squirrel’s bones
I think of all the groundhogs I haven’t
known on this windy day in almost May
scurrying away with powerful claws and
the face of my dog bred to chase
their kind staring in amazement a
never-sated hunger in those bones
never with anything to show for the veins of leaves lost feathers of the long day and those thin bones from which perhaps flutes but now I have broken my own rule and as you see the birds die
bones of a frog somehow Cleopatra survives
white blossom ache in the long bones of the moon
high risk of fire in my bones the dance of pine cones
so many colorful feathers cling to the crushed bones
deep in the bones of my toes the wedding songs of toads
other animals 