| you go there without |
|
looking a road split |
| into the deer's skull |
|
reverses the Russian olives' leaves |
| you recognize inside |
|
your body, any body |
| trash wind-thrown |
|
against the chain link fence |
| laughter released |
|
into your head |
| camouflaged as thin air |
|
the mountain lichenized |
| something's piss into |
|
half fish half house half running |
| child on a cliff spreads |
|
slantwise from shallow holdfast |
| the faithless shrub |
|
grows out of sheer rock and crack |
| only snatches of shade |
|
that take up the map of flowing |
| and a love of difficulty |
|
grows as deep |
| as the height of the cliff |
|
which depends on the bird who lives there |
| What does laughter |
|
look like when it's entered your body? |
| you thought water |
|
curling under ice would be safe |
| Where will you hide |
|
his voice? |
| When does he |
|
light your ear? |
| breath pushes the face |
|
before you into two and you think |
| one of them |
|
one of them |
