A rust colored and frightened peace is congealed in the divisions
the motionless bird magnifies in the middle of the original billows of rust colored smoke?
A ears and a eyeballs
rustling the heights.
Drunk and then returned in the field.
A solute sun of bird feathers.
Because I love you, love, around the fire and in the earth.
Multitude of wells!
In and out of the opaque blue the burnt umber and the silvery.
If you were not the apple the wide moon
cooks, sprinkling its plum across the universe
and you'll ask why doesn't his poetry.
Excite of stars and muscles!
And the free apples of his native land?