the chorus of two serpents and the ratified tailor

The balance of a whiskered treeswift
diving to the side as my contours
shade the obligation of remontant control
quiet perches in the weeds around us
lackluster motives for stock-still letters to pardoned lovers
sending them away to spare them from the boring morning

two serpents cross the yard
seeking tranquility under the hood of my box-filled garage
like an ornament without decay

the unsuspecting master of toil and disbelief
sings only of yesterday’s gorgeousness
and matter that makes up planets below, beside
raining in the pinch, the sober tailor ratified
the sounding board redeemed