Dana Ward
A Dos in the Woods
After the birds under late cement, always
that way, per your naturalist interest
the sky’s neigh silkwoven blisters feint
& childhood backs you like a drug backs
evening, lenient while twice we’re reborn.
Words, are they summing? The kindergarten shade
twisted to eclipse noon’s detritus: you
a handle per your interest in secrecy.
The shore is your hand-out, can you make it
quick & empty. A land under wonderland, collar
chipped like marble. Stall, here, peel this
frieze, the light beneath its leaves, her salience
probably where your car keys row
the chore of flowing out into horizon
windows drawn, crayon trusted, labor of wings
contracting in the dash. Against the ellipsis side
of daytime, golly-work, work again then broken.
In the kitchen several shadows corralled
a functional body to carry the wares
that build you up, a humming bird in in-box
faint dreams of re-assembly
the clandestine candelabra, gears whirring in the oak
this is how a glamorous futurist emotes.
Rose in the cigar tin, gin in the carwash,
eyes on the leaves twisted up in the works.