Eagle heads back, flying low along The rim. Yawn. Fall plenty asleep Despite that thought of "I should be Robust." Eight fetuses in one woman Who refuses to abort six so maybe two Can live. Pro-life applauds. It comes To me just to snooze, like running A finger across the cake, for a taste Of sleep. What at all goes on? Just This small thing lofted on the wind; like A plastic garment bag, for instance; but Nobody down here wears garments. At Some point, take a shower. She left me here, The southern woman. Last night at the races This airedale stood at the rail, and watched Every race. He's way into horses, someone Said. Not a local expression. Long sips At the feeder, hummingbird. Is sugar Water good for these wee birds? They Hover, tiny but robust, one with a ruby Throat, the others green-backed, some Colorless, more or less, like ravens in the dawn Or spuds in the evening, those finches bland Through the day. Recall the events of August 8 1991. That was when... Some eagles then, more fishing, more gulls, but fewer terns and kittiwakes. Did Elvis liberate Women in the deep South? Where is This deep south? And how down does it go?
