I am hunting the wild poetic in all its true
form’s sequence of beaded dream sequins.
I glimpse a glance from cat-green eyes that
refract light, reduce fact, fuse and refuse.
I am lying on a matted forest floor waiting
for the known universe to roll over me, toss
me aside with an errant claw or lift me toward
celestial spheres I might have missed till now.
Bolting from the blue, the sudden poem lights
on my shoulder, a tameable parakeet ready to
unroll words like some sort of weird piano
imagine, a player piano out here in the deep
mahogany woods beyond the rule! This bird
comes close to naming herself, or her desire:
“Play a gain or pray begone! Pair again, paragon!”