Sunday somewhere
next to heaven
unbags a trowel
where rainy day birds
thumper clatter & scour.
Darkness hitches
into darkness
treading, threading
through wonder & wooze
heart’s stakes, unexcused.
Tar & sugars
memory coated grits
fiendishly lit,
balloons that burn
a cross a manger a sea –
But it’s only a bird’s nest?
(Package warns —
comes pre-heated.)
Sunday plumbs
graphite covered
aproned thumbs,
for what’s left to burn
where’s that winded
joss stick –
Bird calls and prayers
that still crack & whiff
& dust the skin
from brink to rim.
Sunday digs
& shovels,
packs it back in
heart shaped
& pebble tossed,
sly enublious tin.