between the souls and the meteors

   The ancestors turn in the sycamore,
leaves like hunched-over squirrels.  
A freeze might take the lemon tree.
   That thing of dozing “over a book,”
the writer just godpowder now.   
Miles up, sparks dragged through
          meteors; miles down,   
creatures eat rock mixed with fire—
Someone prays for you
even if you don’t like it.   Your suicides
      sleep in the mind of a word.
     We want our mother
not to have suffered. Moonbeams
 snake where the tanoak shivers.
      We want our father
not to have suffered, or the three cats,
sprinkled with western dawn—
           The little baby sleeps on his side,
his dream face turned to the woods;
       a fox sleeps with its mouth of color;
& the O in your head, the damaged vowel,
where the skin rises to meet the wound,  
   what does that spell?
       —i don’t know, i don’t know
  (since it got to go on living) but
seems like basically it’s kind of
    a combination: everything
means everything plus
  there is no hidden meaning—

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