and where Thou art I am
astride the wind, or held
by two hoodlums under a starting truck.
crocheting in the attic.
striding forever out of the heart of quartz
immense, unhesitant, monotonous
as galaxies; or rain; or
lost cities of the dinosaurs now sunk
in the unopening rock.
who keeps the bats from flying in your window?
who rolls the words you drop back into seed?
sorrows like lice from your heart & cracks them
between her teeth?
who else blows down your chimney with the moon
scattering ashes from your dismal hearth to show
the sleeping Bird in the coals, or is it
garnet you lost?
What laughter spins you
around in the windy street?