at this point the camera is for preparation and research,
harvesting indications and hints for when the real
work begins, the spiritual creation before the cast dries
allowing changes, integral layers of the kinds of besmirch
one should expect from centuries waiting for the heel
against our soft pile, carpeting streets with chips, fries
and thumbtacks, the kind you hammer in, the kind birds
use for eating and building nests, their bowls for eggs
and hatching young wet wings of open mouths always
spreading to welcome seed, a frequent parental purge
of the morning’s worm and fur of meatless spider legs,
the soups and songs that weave minutes into days
in tree after swaying tree, home to all who can abide
a neighborly threat and one’s accidental purpose
shared among hosts and the hosted in a natural chaos
