solstice

six degrees upon awakening
purpose windowed like frost
but for furnace

cedar waxwings furnace
with bends & yields
the false crabapple

bends & yields
the however of what’s left
be it false

the self purposes on
as if punctual & local
like frost

when something collapses

When something collapses, surfaces piano into & onto.

Bent double, as they say, at the waist.

 

Trees tiptoe to water, arms akimbo, brain-pans jiggling

to absent birdsong.

 

Between trunks, a latter day saint in gloves

&  boots clears a fire line.

 

Chances are, the kestrel & its call

have left. Chances are over

the next ridge. The problem is the problem’s gone

macro & I don’t understand it

well enough to do anything but this.

 

When something collapses

I misread the landscape, its swells and troughs,

& manage to think not here, not now.