Jigsaw puzzle is pieced together:
             out steps a flute player.

Script in hand 
         Stands revealed in Awesome Splendor.

Month of the least death poetry, 
I pity you: a bone of a day 
once every four years tossed your way. 

More lovely the cowboys falling from false fronts
onto a cardboard-mattress medium

The wind might not lament; the gift-shop door
could jingle bells, the jasmine candles wafting.

If she faints while in her fast, the chef awaits
her word in a kitchen hidden at the heart
of the hotel. Her hunger, his counterpart,

Any tree would seem to grieve,
what with the hawk lonelinessing
on her desiccated perch.

Always already, the word within the world.
So the spider spins the same web each morning
and you are born into meaning

The beautiful gray dog
loping across the lawn
all afternoon for the sheer

who came whirling out of the North 
like a locust-swarm, storm-darkening the sky, 
their long hair whipping in the wind like the manes of horses,