Round and round. A mess of hair and mud. Pushed
to the limits of my better self, I circle
the sky in skylight, pursue a steady purpose
you’ll refuse. Sparrows crash at windows,
then pass out. Newspapers tossed on the coffee table
blur off on our hands. Don’t flinch. Just
tell me what it says. Which things we must forget.
What kindles in this tiny cup. A match
held to the fibers. It all depends on wind.