Or the vision that holds
at its razorpoint
the feathers of a bird
goes blue. Each sleepless-
ness framed, behind,
by this whine
of insects. So a shutter,
lifted, offers
to looking
the very oracular
interior of that
openness into which bird
inserts itself. Its song
shortening when
there is wind. Comes
the visible and
its remainder, a
blur, what? Tittering
at lower and lower
luminance. That the
accompaniment might be
sufficiently responsive.