the empty house with a person in it.
asking.

“sap of progress”

the dark matter between us
must stay.

although,
the jackdaws clean the
branches clean as bones.

stalks for white

the roots are full of her fruit,
urchins of red in a congealed space.

we will leave them there for safe keeping.

jam of black,
buttoned as a root dweller

you will repeat what you have said.

I will ask not to uncleave the truth

for safe keeping.

all these birds. everywhere.
there will be nothing left.