Instructions for the Lost
Above the cellars
Lined with preserves,
In a foreign year,
Its calendar girls
Naked except for their parasols,
You may find
That you are lost.
You may listen
To the gurgle of the small
Red chimneys
Filling up with dark.
Into that dark
That sleeves
The bare branches
Like a heavy sack,
A crow will disappear, children.
Pay attention to the crow.
The windpipe
With its tiny rungs.
From THE CLEARING, 2005
