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