EP

yes

those too far to be heard

bristling in the branches

quail aside the empty promenade

closed the county fair and

nude stalks and crabgrass

birds too far off

risen low-whistling in the violet

traced by

the rising violet

enough of a mask, enough

to last

slip out, down the eaves

and grass splayed ahead

aside the empty river

promenade filling with

low nightsounds heard

overhead birds

spatter of stars

murmur of what? benediction?

drift down slowly enough

to escape

notice

inert enough