a tree’s
gone prophecy of
leaves
and ore’s
premonition
cool inclination pulled
through branches
scabbed white when
men’s barn-shells
trembled as
if
on
twig
ends
men bred
grass and
all
the blade-while
their anatomy
(though
nerved by
leather’s scripture)
lay
snake
still
star-charts &
sub embers
coal’s long
regal
lineage
the event
horizons of worms
when great
quiet
arrived
grass grace
held
an elbow’s stare
so sky’s
small fires
warmed
birds’ ways
Mark Goodwin
.