What Is This Ruination Poem by Julian Mann

What is this ruination: birds their song in a vacuum
of vented heating. Detached, the high-wrapped willow
and murky pane.
What's this tiled sky:
at once expressionist's swirl, as well
as yesterday's east.
(Another question)
Holly tree goes chip chip
And the high air, trickle-lickle-lo!
Where does the rain dwell, yes—
where does it sleep:
in the fast-flourishing corner greens.
And the blossom enthorned, praise
the secret rain.