The bony trees / Fork into the sky like tributaries — / I had forgotten. / / There, and then here. / The blossom / Is clouds of pink bees / / Or confetti, entranced. / If I were tiny / I’d clamber through / / And open each bud like a letter. / How the jeans you wear / Unzip / / ...

After the revolt had failed and I’d turned into a fox / I left the church where we had sheltered / knowing that my co-conspirators / were even then being laid out under hedges / in all likelihood, / like rolled-up carpets after a party, / some with their balls stuffed in their mouths, / and t...