He is darking in the shout—

out the in, drain the down,

down the skies and up the earth,

like the scratching of the scream

of the racoons in the brush

and the needing in their sound

tree’ing upward to the moon.

With the darking of the sun and the mooning of the rise,

he is one now with the blindness of—

tree’ing upward to the moon,

out the in, light the cry,

shout the eyes and float the man,

who is one

with the blindness of the fireflies.

He is pathing on his walk

as he business’es his own mind,

alone inside the park,

the park alone inside,

and he’s darking in the shout

to the deafness of the eyes

of the passers by’ing past

little sirens in the wood

and the man who is now one

with the blindness of the fireflies.