i know why the cats left land
went
to where the p.o. boxes listen
and tell softer
stories

where secular time
bends wires and

fills small glasses with
the dust of a
folded cannon

black air
tight

where
one whisper of the dark
was not enough
to drown
the fumes of iron

that
rose
red

and rose silver against
the bare thighs of
that town’s dry river

no more asking where the fish
gone or why
the bellies of the locals
so full