an arrival

in the smallest hour

you broke the sky

like an egg

and it rained inside

for eternity

which was at rest


softly drumming on

the yolkless tide

of protein-rich


which was the future


until the hills were

steeped in you

and thru the valley

came a roar like

the howling of

the world’s only poem

which was a bird


as a fantail slipped

inside the house

clung to the light cord

in the hallway

and would not let go

would not let go

would not let go


and laid a cross-hair

between the eyes

of daybreak

as I threw my jacket

over the piano

like the waltz

I’d written for you

which was indigo


and beautiful

and filled somehow

with the noise of

the muscled legs

of the valley itself

stretching, widening

which was to make room


for the division of cells

like stars appearing

inside the belly

of the swollen sun

or the skin reforming

under your tongue

which is like eternity


somehow at rest, but

rising, falling

turning, which is

akin to seeing for

the very first time.