hunting the wander ecclesiastically...
with a shot full of woes
where the morning goes
to burn itself hazed
in a bluesy sky-fed blaze
and the lambs Ear
is taller than the near-
sighted seeds of the wild rye
and the milkweed is always nearby
thirsty with the river full of eyes
and the dragonflies
are the size of small birds
picking insects with their words
in swoops and stutters
where there might be wind muttered
instead of just whispers
of the gnats hissed herds
hiding from the heat
in vespers complete
peeling against the day
against the turn, from predator to prey
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