Flutter and burn, you turn
almost sideways, glinting
like those who lay
un-described and silent.
Lackadaisical birds.
Tell me something other than
your two methods of circumference,
the legality of chloroform,
the two figures lost in the dark
on the other side of winter.
Tell me once I am lost in the middle
of what once resembled a river,
a path filled with the bones of fish and
desert and dead leaves.
And then, I look up to the sky
that is almost raining, that is almost nothing
without branches, the scorched blue,
the not-blue, in the distance.