Nocturne: 443 Pell Street

faded trumpet- bell curve of
late night, opens to
sound, to
the ringing Gabrielle,
listen and hear the wings on
which the evening
flys toward me,
shadowing a hope
for language
all its own,
stealing the verb from the
dwelling: skull
&
from its own
crow wing, unfolding
and folding in again,
to
cancel the
corn mush
sun
the darling daughter of day
then
reversed the lush horizon darkens,
& the
blue sky turns gray
then strikes flame to green
to reveal the depth of
day in its, unmaking
in luminous mutability
as the dusty copper head
swallows her shivering rattle
to send word that every thing
is this way.