Birds
are screaming in the trees
and sunlight like a needle;
look to the night,
dark as a rabbit-hole,
cool night that crawls
and
soft as a distant tune.
Birds are screaming in the trees
like
rusty machines;
look for a hole
black as a snake heart,
black
as a wet tree
it comes on all fours,
licks your hand
and
the moon that doesn't need you.
The
sun returns with a warrant,
bangs at the door
and birds
are screaming in the trees
at daylight,
where
forgetting begins.