when the conditional self
seeks to awaken
you you say

it will probably
echo an
improbable truth

into my mouth
confusing
uvula for light

a crow on the heap
of slack-skin speech

and for a moment
mending everything

I will hear
its little
shadow making
little shadow sounds

until that moment when
the trees are closed forever
and the streets are closed forever

and it begins laughing
at the long
sad face
of my universe

as it starts out
in search
of something to eat