The trees grunt around 2am
my bones shatter yours
among the lawns and miles of river
half-shot from the lung
jesus knocks over his beer
it begins to hail
better than our words or guttural dreams
among the early light of cars arguing
and the stare of dogs in haphazard light

Dismayed enough to bark with laughter
that rolling hymn of bone upon night
where we rattle space together
gripping it with knuckle, palm, fire, and distress
opening the lightening to our day
that remind us of seasons between
better made for the shadow tax, or
whatever days we owe.