Listen, we can stay here forever, in Tucson, / rain is a fable and we don’t need / a story to fall asleep.
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? Look 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?