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Takes my hand ...

she cannot

find the moon.

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A day for slipping

for sliding with the rain

... or hiding at windows.

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Black rain

black eyes, black talon

... tap tap.

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Shaking in the rain
standing, gasping in the wind
... and other true things.

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High in the old fir
woodpecker wary
... of little old me.

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Dip into velvet
this rest few fears can brook
... summer night.

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Sinks
sitting locked or riding away
... or walking, just walking.

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Walls to fracture
door, ceilings ... sealings -
run ... run to forest, run.

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Conspiracy of crows
consorting with jays in shadows
surely against me.

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