Three young foxes spilling down the culvert.
A red shirt in the closet. Stick jammed
in the undercarriage. Steaming plates
presented by a weeping waiter. Some days
the sea is calm, others it would rip apart
the world. You always wake in another room.
It makes you want to be buried in the air
but not yet. Some things separate themselves
effortlessly from the abyss, the undifferentiated