I dare to care for what’s touchable on this crazy black-dog day. Flute music and dish for lunch may make the day a miser’s hoard, each hour golden, upwelling like buttercups, dandelions, tiger lilies. Wait, sit, stay– I am on one end of the leash teaching anger to lie down at my heels.

Spawn of our love for ease and oil,what rough beast slouches inward?Naming the storm does nottame a monster born of industry,fathered by greed, nursed on ignorance.Nor will our awful offspringapologize for the drownings.We did not dream it would outgrowits warm saltwater wombdelivering cyclones and floodsthat devour us, our fields, and farms.

It chews dry bones to get the marrow,the fulsome tidbits, bats its eyelashes,wags its tail in search for more,overeats, fattens, and oncethe meat is gone, licks the dish,hungry for more, more, more praise,a banquet where Ego is the honored guest,the main speaker until I cry…STOP!You overeat till we eviscerate.You used to feed on seeds and…

Coats whisper in the closet,reminding me that I am sheepishabout perpetual rifts, yet every hourI mumble riot. Instead of speaking,I stare daily at the slow decayof dovetail joints on an old cedar chest,its splits like canyons in the wood,but there is no echo. Where is my voice?And who hears my oaths sworn against reality,my defense…

Birds move me morethan angels–Canada geeseas they cup their wings,seraphim singing out of tune,but visible, move me morethan a rumor of the celestial.I’m a burden to myselfwith my ties to languageand to gravity, not satisfiedwith bipedalismand opposable thumbsinstead of wings and talons.If avian, I might bea blue heron balanced for hourson one thin leg to…