Sparks, Nevada

In the middle of the night, father Brought me a falcon. By morning, it ripped the wire and flew the hill Into the highway. When they found me in that car My sleeve stemmed in blood, I didn’t know what it was I was trying to kill. I saw a craft of orphans steaming down the river. They were dressed in white and silent as a séance. It was then I spoke to the bird. Already God is shaking his black seed Back into me.