Michigan snow crossed
the night I had not slept, so
overwhelming an obsession is.
To rename all the birds,
I will ignore the sound
of a squeezed lime,
that I stopped to drink.
The eeriness of the world belongs
to crisp shadows this time,
just before dark.
The flap of the raven's wings
was the moon's gloves.
I'll sleep near the vulnerable
light of the stars that rose
and gleamed white blotches
against the ground of ghosts.