The healing never comes

One tree limb supercilious to
other nocturnal watches
Mordecai is spinning bandages in the
policeman’s yard
There is no dialing back from
the screened light
Solidified trophies are not what the
Earth is about
Instead, bleeding into the airing
cupboard

listless, and abandoned without
place cards on the line
no sullen tornadoes where limping
glass weighs resentful

Dogs coming out of the fire, between
you and I
The only patrol from abatis
hunches, cornered,
Stalling like a timid father, too
engrossed in his work
To see the trees as a threat
to the family

aisle family was always beyond
his perception

No language can confiscate his frontier
rounds