Three birds are still
At the foot of the trail,
So close to the nest.
Everything alive
Is with heat.
Starving
Makes me
Rich,
But it must be self inflicted.
Tobacco,
Fur,
Mirror.
Little boy, little boy in the rocks,
Teach me how to make fire.
I will feed it as child.
Bind up bones and set
The quiet birds
Near flame.
Feel the heat?
I made that heat.
Crack crack crack
And the rock
And the heads.
Three little heads.
We leaves
Increase the cold.
The poor grow fat.
Each morning dew,
And in the night, fire.
Sleep comes.
Bird by bird,
Hunger is a well spring
Self inflicted.
At the foot of the path,
A river. The fish are food.
On fire,
The fish are food,
Are silver.
