then all the thoughts I’d dropped
in the too hard basket
opened before me like
the eyes of the cat I drowned in the river
along with her kittens their ballet
in the cage they were trapped in
animated my torch light
like neon in Vegas
so I called it startup cantata
or the sucklings denied
(coins buried in jars
pay for their own funeral)
that sad plover cry at 2am
outbids a bronzewing for moonlight
their songs in the wind
wait like wet paint to unfurl
don’t stare up at them rudely
just blink and receive