6-17-2014

Lord knows what birds
those could be,
awake and blown over the yard
in the middle of the night.

Maybe they have all been
asked the same questions,
and like all others
awake to being asked,
are searching for
the edges and the corners.

I'm still working on it.

One day, I might suggest in answer

an ever-rusting
dawn,

Suspended
nights, nighttimes,

and maps;

spread out over garage floors
in lives lived
by and still apart from
and before me;

a grand careen;
rock-boating
harvests
full of saw;

dusk-molten grain;

the paths of whirlwinds lain across
swaying cars;

dreams of
maps as birds,
blown over the backyard
in the middle of the night.