.

I`d toss
these words
across the surface
of a poem like corn
for geese, whisper
blind configurations
into winter wind as if
to fling them up like
rocks for trust, realign
each bird`s eye point
of view with arching
squalls and watch them
fall from down-below
the lettered crash
of language on a page,
make muffled prints
of feathers felting snow
and smacking ice,
and spy all this from
underneath the throw
of black and white
thereby sticking
tongue to soul