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


poem studio