Red Hawk’s Nest


Trunk sky.
Dogwood cups,

wide purple
and white plants—

vibration bouncing
either place.

Each shelter
has different eyes.

Drinking dropped
some off,
onto borrowed couches

and crisis centers,
in parks past halfway sun,

the lonely support
of plump feathers donned
by mythic hope.

I never said what was not real.
I’d say
don’t worry —

a mirror of saying nothing.

Or, you’re lucky
for collagen

healing the dirty
slices in life.