Some Swan Headless Moves Into the Sun
shoved little moor from above.
My rocket was aimless, the insanity
of rosemary reaching
with sound, the sound of tents. Enormous
Flowers sound swan body shadows.
below the sun, if there
aren’t thousands guttered,
soon to hear the black and dalmatian,
soon to leave one eye for rolling, say a way
now close in thunder. This vent
high sky patterns
in fits, flower prints,
private gardens wanting forever on a hill.