crow alights on the pylon
at the bottom of the field
instantly explodes with a dull crack
the fireball floats impressively
slowly out of view
at all angles
the other birds waft upwards
then settle on the wire
on vertical tips
of nearby
dead branches
as if overseeing the explanation
of no second chance
watch where you put your feet
I tell this to the Scrofa Semilanuta
who weeps uncontrollably
and reminds me of Charles Mingus
in a flurry of retraction
I try to calculate a path to the pylon
as if to show her that it never really happened
I've never been down to that crease
at the bottom of the field
up to now there was no point
Valverde June 2009