If you sit still long enough and stare
into the yard, notice the bird hop and
peck for bugs in the grass, see the pecan
tree branches sway and bend, watch the
squirrels watch you for the slightest

then the world you left inside will
begin to rust away, corrode in slow,
steady breaths, your indoor words will
oxidize into laces of umber and sorrel and
chestnut until you reach the bottom line
of your soul, the stark metal base of your
life, run your fingers over the spiny tips of
the box-leaf hollies and bleed.