Because I stole the horse’s reins,
my gelding elicits a still-tail silence.
Because silence is a constant,
the loon will not call, the lens
bears down on a looted nest.
Soon the net, soon enlisted
to sorrow. Soon a ton of solo,
Leo called into action.
The stolen, the loosened:
I’m nil with them; my muzzle
a lost canoe in Orion (oceans
have nothing on Draco,
on Cassiopeia’s listing ).
Cetus breaches while a saw-whet
no no nos. What’s the weight
of Cygnus? How long
‘til my castles topple, sing
a crash of high-stakes half-
notes? O hydra, O heron, O howling
hound not howling–-the whole dang lot
of tinsel and ills, lilt of every living cell.