The Legislation

Allah taught me
had the yellow bird with black
trims never come
neither would the desire
come to see such a yellow bird
again. How many neglected
homes did he not visit today?
The dove doves qul qul
with rolled rs and thrills
and what else is done
for the residents
to believe barb-wire
and baby-fruit, the faint
bioacoustic that birds
trade in short public
lecture to us again.
So time is artifice
in branches of light
to open and bloom
the genuine and real
against us sans
hint of permission
or request and the wind
as if by chance
settles property
about the place,
wire-taps the bride to
scatter privy and probate
in exact measure:
this much bird
with the temperature
of this much cricket,
this much heat
with this much precision-
driven speechless form,
the brave and honorable gnat
and sonic no-see-ums
turn this much breeze
and rain-timing
of the kûd-dûkan
who lately predicts
the tremendous
achievements of fall
as fall quits talking
and slips into the age-
old guise of winter-
mute cant of snow:
how else to bear
the grunt and squint
of promethea
as it melts and builds
the drowsy hydraulic
inside trusty
woolen quarters:
leaf shroud, wood pajama
taste of silk and salt,
how tenacious
the dreams are there
in the subtle darkness
of the hostage
the remarkable prison
of dynastic tradition
squandered there.
This much fidelity
and candor as the storm
stalls overhead and hands
out the legible
squall of the sky,
the uncanny suspension
of the sea-haul there
in the swell attraction
and pains-taking blabber
of the earth as she builds
a rebuttal and wins.
The lie does surround and contain
the grass as it rises, limits the silence
as it speaks, frees the yellow bird
with black trims
as he appears to wander
from ledge to limb,
from choice to whim
and when this fly
lays down a generation
within my skin,
does not the spider
query the corpse
as she spin?
In this inesscapable this
rests the dominion.