Woke up through the sheets, the city & the satellites
& spent the afternoon & evening
sunk down a breaking storm.
I dyed my mustache black.
Pinned a button to my dress.
& had thought to say something to you,
something like dolls...under blankets or leaves...
something large & felled, &
I just, in a moment, if I
could inhale & stall, & stop, & if
something were slightly to the left—the
particulars, my small pink dress, my
rancher mustache, the thunder
dry & getting
wet as it rolls
across a canopy
of colored fat leaves...
each pinned to its tree...