Don’t the cocoon. It’s been April
for too long. Look at the clouds,
their shape held hostage by the wind:
a fat boar being stalked down by three
anxious poachers. ​No​. Two, bull frogs
resting in the mud. Now, a fawn,
having seen its own reflection in
the still river for the very first time,
darts off into the sky. ​No.​ Everything
painted in the absence of grey.

Listen, we can stay here forever, in Tucson,
rain is a fable and we don’t need
a story to fall asleep. ​Forever Awake?
Yes. Our pillowcases can be day shirts,
and shirt-shirts. ​Night shirts? ​Forget
night. Look up: an owl thieves
three robin eggs from their mother’s
nest, strong gust, then loses his wings,
but not his feathers.​ What about
our hands? L​ook at air-space on my two
sides. Did you think “arms”? ​No.
See, the calendar reads October,
and no one is waiting, Don’t you
want something to be faithful to?