Puppet X, 16

 

When we lie down

under the wind

 

the trees swaying

looking out over the fields

 

soft cobweb of a brain

 

exposed to hail

exposed to snow  

 

trying to back away

from it

 

unable

 

knowing the earth

(the face it will take)

 

our names

fluttering loose

and sleep spreading over the planet --

 

            --  the wind that

            makes a candle

            flicker and the

            flame go to hell --

 

the full moon will rise

on this gust

and swerve over the

horizon

 

trees will know

the names of women

 

the ones we knew

 

there will be hilarity

among machine guns

 

daggers become ribbon

 

bullets

the worm we love

 

… bridge river trees …

 

when we are in our grave

 

The saucer will rattle

and the teacup dance