Swallows and sparrows carousel the
white black-burred Dogwood tree
on a corner yard, 4th and Ingersoll.

You drink limes in water and belch sugar
underneath the revolving nest of fiery wasps,
wait for view, vibrating sunbathed and hot.

After some time has krilled you,
two-ton tongued off its baleen comb,
you won't even have to breathe,
nor these birds pared open by seasons.

The peeling of every thing, the ruining
of skins and meats, and the very ply,
is fade, dearly fidgeted through hands,
the raspfish that bring encephalacy
to learning creatures, even in a yard,
corner of 4th and Ingersoll.