do you clap when it arrives in crumpled
corrugated cardboard dropped on the steps
of your demand and expectation—me?
I long to hear the soft song of
the box cutter the little sigh
as light uncovers the gifts of darkness
but enough of my many weaknesses
let’s upgrade our kitchens hats and bookshelves
lounge in the recycled air gulp supplements
unthinking of the debt and folks living
in fire and try to laugh since we never
got the hang of writing protest songs
other people’s postcards
and the problems you carried from home but
with new hats in the shop they said you
must visit after something muttered
about the mountain air some vista or
chirps back and forth in brightening dark cold coffee
though later and once the music mercifully
stopped and after the little chapel was
broken down and the beams
turned into pens for disappointed
tourists the sound of the little fountain
carried us
away
if we knew where we might go the precious
shell the shadow inside
other animals 