Is gluttony what remembers
is what the table was, cleared.
Is the hard work of shrubs sheared
into a shape of what once was
but no longer. Turtledoves all
that fluffy grey plumage insists
to the opposite sexes as controlled
tumble of amorous flight in the air,
and then the flock, and then the sea
and then both things are you and me
Elemental resistance is not
the corks burning; they love it
they suck up that plasma and live
there content with destruction
That soft pulpy wood,
alike in all particulars
to both stains, both patches
of red growing, straining.
The screens of what's keeping
what's letting go.
