Those jackdaws laugh a lot from the chimney pots: what do they know?

That night the traffic lights all turned blue.

within the architecture of oaks the deafeningness of starling overload

we stand at the edge of drowning.
the water is small, familiar, and unknowingly
deep. silent fish slip through the night around us.

the view from what happens decides there’s a road. or a fly
on the wall of winter. all things to be done will be done
over. the dark in a dog set to howl.

snow is falling over the past. over the wild
cosmos garden. a silver light holds her feet above
the ground. how much of the moon has she swallowed?

a small horse leans into her juniper tree.
the man who never traveled peels himself from the wall.
a roof begins to leak. good fortune.
one silence holds shadow and sun.

halfway trying to learn a half-dead language

smudges of past unicycles

It’s come and won’t again.
She should get a journal,
gather the day on the end of her pen
like candy floss
and push it into paper
like a scar

Else she’ll be dead before she’s noticed
But she’s got a headache and didn’t we all just used to
walk and eat and talk and eat

Is life short or long?
She thinks she’ll let it go on
Like a game of scrabble