In the film, the boy hears a crash and the leaf-
blower drops. In my room, a gasoline can. Swans
on a crystal lake in a country that is not this one.
Figure the heart as a suitcase. A music box.
Autumn blown every which way. It’s rained
like hell for weeks, but the cracked mug you left
on the fencepost won’t fill. This has been
said before. Please: on the day these feet leave
the earth, do not console yourself with flight.
Excuse me, this is my stop. I’ve tried to be small.