To don the cloak of crows,
Of blackened paper,
Folding, burnt

Would this bring me closer
To puddles
With leaves asleep?

How the dews combine,
Settling stars
In a watery universe

Charcoal cries bounce clear
And intermingle
With grassy sighs

Of what is spoken is told
Here
The hawk won’t argue

But is wheeled and chased
By flights of coal
Above roiling plains

Bounded by fence
And grazed by
Heaving wind breaths

Altogether is spoken
Everything
All bright with truth