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In transit
leaven works
what rises
may be bread
put in a word
water it
soak for three summers
any beach, any coast
if it rains
find shelter
a teardrop is a prism
a teardrop is a prism
every night
the shadows stretch
and hunch at noon
and hunch
my feet are full
of crumbs of sand
I bake |
Migration
Long necked, legs stretched
The pelagian bird tries the wind
Soars even in sleep
To instinctual southern harbors
In origami’s unfolding
The crane unflaps its wings
Turns its head inside out
Becomes and envelope to open
Into a thin flat sheet
A boy comes in at seven years
Toys with the undone paper square
Almost makes a wing, a backward beak
A down-turned tail
Then tidily smoothes the paper out
Staring at the pattern of the creases
As you exit
You neatly swallow your well-phrased defense
Cast your focus on a blinding bulb
Throw aside your Pendergrass coat
Go out of style
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