Twine a wet-paint brush
under the wing of a swallow
startle it into flocking,
spattering the day-dripped sky.

Plug a handful of little cut-out
letters in the hollow belly
of a cicada,

let the humming-dark body
vibrate tymbals
and rename the feel of sap
webbing your fingers.

Drip salt
along the earth
and wait for the reed-thin
snake to curl through the white,
undressing a causeway
of slipped sound.

Loop a cinnamon-red balloon
around a stone, drop it
into the acre pond
and watch cloud cover
pass over the glass-smooth
surface, dance in an abandoned
warehouse of wind,

float over rows of neatened rooms
where children hide, hiss their breath
and pitch-missed notes into plastic flutes,
again, again and again.