One Way or Another

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The  hawthorn  stripped,  one  red  berry  and  one  red  leaf,  the  hawk’s  cry exhausted  in  your  throat,  an  accident  of  flight,  down  by  the  river,  the  jay mimicking a table saw, you slip your hand into a pocket of evidence, touch the ticket,  a  landscape  of  footprints  and  dark  reliefs,  your  voice  a  branch repeating its leaved echoes, its wing’s dark edge, binding the hollow air, the body  you’ve  sketched  beneath  your  lids,  you  look  for  the  sky,  vanished once  again  for  a  moment,  then  pirouette,  drop  the  frayed  ticket  in  the trash.

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