The Director

They were something else

They were a sprinkler rotating

over the lawn in the dark

A path was cleared ahead,

sparrows flew out. What was printed, I saw,

drawn from the page by flame

Thickets went, agreements,

but something was stuck

shaking in their fingertips?

I’d stopped by, knocked

against the side of the house. Hello!

I was armed with Bundt cake—

And I kept setting up the tables,

opening windows, looking

nightly out at the prairie

How it runs along

beside the highway, strands of lights

floating mobile homes