™work™bird™

in a winter unending,
a metal sound echoes
on the bricks and bridges of the city

to how many oceans did she fall asleep listening?
a surge pulse of water sucking sand
shoulders form a shelter

you are a work bird
that wakes and loosens
pinions on flat matte carpet

well, leaves come back, anyhow,
green as ever, horrid freshness

brown brothers fertilizer now,
and soft sound-makers under footfalls

wow, what a winter, the
fall unfolded unremarkable,
but wow, winter.

no fever could end
her crisp unsparing air
as starving as dogs

rip a chicken corpse tossed
at the edge where the dull light
from this campfire someone started
turns night

no beginning, none,
just rhythmic throbbing tongue eating
whichever
tinder it touches

you will be ash and I will be ash
leaves will cling to trees entire seasons
and oceans slush along as we slither
and drool along the shore, sleeping