The word has a flesh
comes proud from the brow
Can round in the sun
like a peach on a bough
And the bird has a wing
swings
in space
on its own
blown
grace
The peach and word
are one in the sun
And one in the shade
of their windfall graves
For the word has a bone
pulls flesh in turn
As the stone the peach
to the wasp and worm
See the blur on the bough
is the bird
as it goes
and was gone