Having darkened my hand with dark ink in
an age when close and
distant are cloudy unaided having
made so much that no
body wants to eat I wait for the latest
historic storm and the
scrape and salt that wakes us too early
or too late
model mountains pen in
sugared cars I try to
lift the snow with a wave
of homemade rhythm into
sky like berries almost black
but do I fracture some rule with
this spell how many feet do I have
to long for long-lasting mud
and the birds who
visit though we won’t learn
their names this year
either but the tracks lead
to a curve turning
back on itself with a smile
the breath leaves
green leaves shake
so let’s finish off the crackers
and call them
cookies we can watch
a movie through the neighbor’s
window just
balance on this skull
other animals 