melon light fracturing mosaic of birds
or bats,
obsolete telephone wires;
debris along dusk,
husks in a wild field
bordering a house lit angular,
Hitchcock.
what is/are the root(s) of yellow as caution, I ask,
having left google behind
or any yardstick other than darkening light
those three ducks in the pond,
meringue white, furtive as leaves—
just a swim at twilight,
not being part of our times.
I lean in now to their sound,
rock hitting water,
as if I were the rock
feeling wet on my muddiness
or, the memory of feeling
when we turned
around I realized
we had walked
backs to the sun.
