Clean as wood. Spring again magpie another Chinese totality tortoise shell craquelure of a word your personal code falls from the sky bird flying through a sky of wood. Harbor of arbor moves the seasons backwards tree of night he called it, but meant any tree that sang me. Rings and rings of sky, all my lives I paced a rut. I know what happened to last year’s rain. The seasons of seasons noise this world around me. Then I stepped back. Backwards through a hedge. A wall. A sign. Every step, back, into this, my head in her lap, this spring, headwaters of table.
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