the bed is a snare drum
a share of could and run

believes into the engine
all the buildings' edges

each star of where I cross
from heat to heat

dogs cry tears
in the selvedge of flame

"never thought I'd see
a dog star falling," but wakes up

in the metal of cars and girders
these births are closed

like a memory, not like a memory
around the water, scorched

that it hurts to look into it
to save it, the thing

you wish to save
loosened, now,

so we're not just a chain of infants

materials rise and fall, the presence
of the rain, simultaneous, fringe
of conflict, sound, a clue called vowel
travels the startling current of the organs
warns but doesn't end at the smashed wind-
shield of the pickup truck on 17th St.

illuminates and does not explain,
comes true means decay, heavy in winter
cauldron strapped to the back

haunting is showing
from the top of which
suffering a plan
urgencies rise and fall
slats of mistake recede
and are, all along
the what's about to happen strand

is it the same or is
it different? the decaying
body of the mouse, is
like the sun, like
with the shivering terror
of completion, I fell
into milk