To be recited at the neutering of a humming bird.

In sleep we lay defining now
defamed by none but fellow brow.
And burst upon the steel chair glow
of yellow lakes and rice.

I try to sing
but with
no notes
And make this
black warm day
a night of stars.

Can we follow?
How can we follow
the sheep in super clothes?
Our eyes in light had slept through much.
We must rework the curtain’s touch
to floor.
I cannot sink a mother ship
a paragraph
a blast of ink.
I cannot pierce through slowing gouges.
My forehead is in pain.
And then I saw the super sheep it nearly blew my brain.

In sleep I reached the totem top.
Pushed myself through blurry clouds
came upon the dreaming tree
where I would crouch down
upon my shoulders lay white holy shroud.
Become rain water bowl
on breakfast table of tunnel people.

This is incontrovertible silence
this is paper from the makers of the moon
this is red garden and blue water all in bottles labeled hay pile
the death of too much to tell
the birth of the glass head in the holy house of lighted birds
reaching up past it's place to weep.