The tiles on the ceiling need to be swept
and the garden descended. As the clutter grows
here and there like rocks on the moon
the people looking up find the space to be
a ten-sided box with ten-sided boxes
in the corners. And so on. Something to count
on if we could ever find them in the mass
Rabbit ears keep us focused on the clover
and the discarded cabbage keeps combusting
like meteors or bottle rockets in the dirt
where the animals gather to chat and barter
The gospel of the ant precludes a dance
songs can't clean the bathhouse of the forest
clicking and clucking at the nubile geese
lounging in the water at the root of sound
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