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I hadn't the patience
to learn what lay unlearned
though when the mud
I knew how to shoot.
Autumn ate our feet up to the ankle
stripped away
what closed out cold
-- a cough, unsilence.
Marvelous spectacle and its annotators:
once a whisper in my ear
once a finger on my lip.
Get your gun
quiet this whimpspering.
Night before snowfall,
counterpoint ice scrapings
gnash at cloud
too much said,
the flush
spoken upon spoken --
this alarum
snapping, four feet stopped,
no sight, no noise.
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