19
Mind Quadrille
By the time spring wind unhooks snowflakes
its elegant death mask
ripping through miles of fog-rimmed horizon
hunters are on the cusp of famine
they pick and turn fist-sized cotton grass
An arctic wolf stalks its prey
through a field full of left behind maps
the ailing bird dangles
more dirt-bound each hour, nearing the porch
inside its breastbone
Harsh blooms the silence in saliva thick pockets
last inhales melt in a foam of poppy red
hunters unbone the transfigured giant
blackening eyes sing to the bird
and the bird sings back in solidarity
Hunters down the wet bitterness entirely, inhale
its earthquakes, fold it tidy
their sky-dried salvation
shadow horses fall away and hunters carry on,
leave behind a homeless shell
In this constellation, the bird
is your heart, the wolf your blood
and the hunters your humanity patterns
the humming bird (if it finds you)
even if inconsolable, points to your cranium paradise