Addendum

And then there's the wind blows through me, no noun.

And then there's the nearby cave full of flickering

allegory, ankles hobbled by shadows.

And then, of course: all of that bird's-eye view

and the want of a place that does not see you.

Where has my curiosity flown?

With what will I huddle? Upon what hinges

and creaks my coat-hanger swing?

The myna still mimics the car alarms.

And then there's the trick of getting a bead on

not the bird but its aboutness, the place

where the flurry is heard because they splay.

So un-in-love, involved. Here comes

life's force-fed effigy aloft on pickets.

I pull one out and start a new fence.

Copyright © 2005 Andrew Osborn All rights reserved
from Bat City Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission