A plane crashed then hundreds of birds
disgorged by an updraft
fell already dead, experts reported,
on a town in the Midwest.
That night, cold & sleepless, townspeople
walked around the crash site
as hair drifted down from the sky
electric-white & yet
clinging to the town like a web
—gone by dawn, transparent:
to leave snow where there was no snow
heaving with a secret.
One rock fell, then another rock.
Every window in the world broke.
!50!Now we stand: front yard
!50!praying Bring it on, Lord —
come back like a train down a track
to get us: highjack some sparrows,
harness four diving horses, be virus
!50!turned moral and airborne.
!50!Cut our throats with a thorn
and we’ll remember the forest.