old orange
ball bounces up
from the gutter
into the gap
sky whitens
bird cries crackle
along wire—
I am not
sun when I rise
from humped horizon
if I attempt
a vertical /
my brazen old
body blocks
window-spill—
life with wings
folded inside
still dark
decision
will make
if when
orange ball reprises
if when
what is real
breaks—
until if/when
do not wake
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 4.