A wasp in a dish of ash

makes some sound 



of a life that's molting,



the star in your breast

receding,          bereft

years & intentional 

fallacies, pathetic now



how the tight demons

proffer poisoned jackfruit,



you don't dress the wound, you

press the wound & nothing

happens, every stigma 



attached, how the days

unfold, what they do.



The wolf & the moon

get freaky, no motion in 

the stall, the animals

are sleeping the stars are 

out the moon is out

the answers fall like opals



into nets, they're not opals

they're sparrows'

hearts.