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 torchlight
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