Bay Window Lauds

The sill plays a cruel joke—thrones me. Frames me

lording over lawn mower stripes—myself

in a shallow trench. In grass blades. Myself

persisting, despite a dickhead sun—me

in chlorophyll. Early, I find myself

swaying—me! in the black chokeberry, me!

in the rabbit’s throat. Me, the rabbit. Me  

dancing out pellets. Out-dancing myself—

my father’s pellet gun, the hawk. The joke

is a bright belly full of dark hopping

along my father’s garden & the joke

small, between wrapped talons, is the hawking

too, is the axe sun, swift, rising, this joy.

This joy, it swallows itself far too soon!