a sky with just one aperture
would fit in a briefcase
you’d hear it in there
clacking its beak
i miss the flesh of my flesh
lost during the pandemic
i have been drowning lady beetles
in the toilet in the sink
the oaks are dangling blossoms
before every passing breeze
green and yellow like snakes
in the old folk song
i argue all sides of a position
and call it prayer
i am sung to daily
by my followers the flies
