You can tell by the curtain
how the play will end, this sill
dusted word for word
till your ear slides along
the feathers and you hear
a door open the way
between the passenger’s side
and just one wing
so there’s a spin in the works
though under the hood
an old campfire is fed
live songs laced together
with stories about ghosts
—their smoke covers you
—even the tires
glistening, half wood
half songs, surrounded
by miles no one remembers
and the invisible shadow
alongside your eyes when the door
opens on the driver’s side
divides the sky the way lightening
sees what’s coming and the curtain
makes a gesture —spread-eagle
then climbs slowly
to become your arms
—you don’t move
—from this height the sky
fills with some moon-lit constellation
still burning in the dark
—you can make out the beak
the claws clasping your lips
suddenly rock, lowered here
to watch over the dead
the falling birds
with not enough air to breathe.

*       *       *

This bird must hear the blood
all day nesting in its gut
slit open to catch rainwater

draining some roof the way your hand
dries from the balcony half feathers
half seaweed —it listens

for waves, each one now motionless
bending over the other
—two deaths from one botched egg

though there are no leaves to fall
to gather more sky for the flight back
and you are singing alone, slow

getting the words wrong
caressing its belly with the same breeze
now bathing it —you rinse the blade

still sharpening itself on its shadow
back and forth till the sea
no longer reflects just one sky

stranded, unshapely —a monster
covered with wings already stone
clinging to you even over water.

*       *       *

When this clock holds back
its scent has meaning
—even dogs are trained

for lies or no lies —truth
has a calm to it, by instinct
soothes this kitchen wall

flows underneath as bone
and sleeplessness —you wait
for night to reset the hands

teach them honesty
practice till the weak one
hardens solid, smells

the way an invisible stone
can be trusted
lets you lower your head

against this darkness
falling out your skin
as silence and the nights to come.