Such Reasons Made Manifest
Because I have a skeleton, I am greedy for bread.
Because the wind enters my ears and wreaks havoc
on my equilibrium, I cannot sing in tune.
Because there are so many greens to choose from,
I choose blue.
First, the racket of hail, a minor assault on the house,
a vestigial thrill in the gray collapse.
Next, streaks of orange and pocked clouds.
Then, stillness, all but a testy crow.
Because I swallow an emphasis on pause.
Because the apple tree has branches to spare
and the roots, too, are generous.
Because lies have left scars and I have a tendency
to worry them.
The frescoes emerge inside my eyelids.
Remnants of wings attach at my heels.
I carry the blather like a bowl of soup
and its steam burns my fingers,
clouds my vision.