Wires are down, suturing the lacquered stones. Weighted with absence, clotheslines sag, Stiffen. The sheets that canopied seedlings Have shriveled into bruised pears. All night I heard the splinter of unknown things. The woods had whitened, shredding into disarray.
Morning cages the window.
The suet left for Grackles stays wrapped to a warped elm. Only hunger when they leave. And one, this happened years ago, occurred With five mares getting electrocuted. The milk truck severed A low-hanging wire, a main line that fed The house and barn. We found them huddled and scorched, and their eyes Stared at death the way, I suppose, ours would.