Listened but couldn’t hear
the subject hissing: looked up to
pages of stuttering rain (it tastes
green), warmer while the song decays
such weather full of precedent
A body made of water
dropped from a stratus
window mists over as it falls,
all hesitating sluice and flume
*
A water-worded book, muttering
foam of nouns, matte adjectives
and artifacts: torn pieces of
the visible, divisible by threes
A lot absorbed in rubble and the day’s
debris litters the nocturne
where moon exercises absence’s
discovery of outline, crevices
and missing parts of world
*
A private sea of trees, these inabilities
of yellow leaves all pigeon,
sparrow, wren or finch, plume down
dirty sidewalk, broken glass
of reason’s syllabics, babble of
wind-bent grass, brush stammering
crushed bouquets of paper clouds
white night cross-hatched with stars
the rambling green rain unravels
