States and Instructions for the Universal Machine

Let the body be a difference,

engine that pries and hauls the fence

separating the loose world:

bridge of teeth

snapped from the gums,

ghost of the child to come.

~

A woman is called to the yard

as a family quietly

loads their pockets with pears

from her dying tree.

~

Out of the dead,

no stalk grew as expected

or gorged its capillaries

on the color of heaven.

~

What, then, ran

in the veins? Rain

on twenty umbrellas

at the churchyard.

~

Repertoire for eye and eraser,

pointer and thigh. A world built

in a few movements: stop, look,

speak, move on.

~

At the university, the chapel towers grew awhile and,

as they neared the limestone body’s end,

suddenly swerved—hoarded breath

in fists of iron.

~

Could we have built the world

with only these directions?

Raise and lower the pen.

~

And with only:

Halo of flies

around the hair.

The heart,

gnarled fruit, let go

from its tree.