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
in space
on its own
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