I am of both of your directions
Somehow remaining hanging downward the most
but strong as a cobweb in the wind.
I exist more with the cold glistening frost.
But my beaded rays have the colors
I’ve seen in a paintings —
ah life, they have cheated you.
It isn’t true I had nothing on. I had the radio on.
“There is a forest in the middle of life.”
Two pigeons fucking under the trees in a busy downtown Portland square–took about a nano second. Blink and you’d miss it.
Afterwards they stood two feet apart staring at each other for the longest time, feathers slightly ruffled. Each had one foot tucked up underneath its feathers.
Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead.