Chafed sticks forested--
lunar sliver threads tied them up
as to bundle with conviction.
An angel gone rare loaded the
forest upon its back...slumbering
birds shook awake midway to
heaven.
Played through the angel's lattice
of light, their throats the musical
prodigy of their carrier.
Darkness went off the air...static
was the break of a pieced together
sound barrier.
The earliest rustles of echoic being
ran down the place all spaces meet.
Such uplift is not imaginal, but the
all-encompassing care of...things
trying the patience of their mold.
This is the desolate you...daylong
giving birth to the search party of
you...that rare angel shaking free
the residents of desolation midway
to heaven...for a song...just fine
with spending itself--you on you.