theories of what we’re up to

is there an errant pigeon that will start
with the movement?

hasten. the pigeon.

theories of what we’re up to come down
to unfolding maps that have yet to be

filled-in.

it’s the filling-in that inhabits my thoughts.
when I’ve got you, you’re such a map,

opened, it’s all hasten & press-down–
the corners–

there are more than four.
veinfully able, wind lends a hand

with disarray as in what was
is no longer what’s left.

pressing down. pressing.
as if the pigeon hasn’t a hint of such

theories,

it unsteps the afternoon with less than a lot
to inhabit.

the white-throated sparrow

blown in blown down, the sky about to empty all that necessary difficulty & you

Mister White-Throat

busy getting under with scratch & back-in scratch & study & nib for nab– 

there’s snow to come there’s snow to come–a handsome fact felt in the bone–when was Canada or Iowa or Nebraska–why the front stoop of Here?

I’m grateful for your visit, your uncentering of this place–no, your uncentering of me–it welcomes & opens & hopes you rode out the storm