vacuum dust

 

the moon was grinning
a china plate
over the bones of the hills and spider web trees
you are naked as a piece of silk
and a screen door is snapping in me
the ground is gray green
words you are saying come out as music
a Texaco sign is a hundred miles away
only the telephone poles may be listening
the parked car presents razors of arcs
we made all we were to become then