Elbow of Capture
The apple held high, a legitimate and carved frown on the plate.
We want early morning duds, the handkerchief in pocket, a tree-shaped fold.
We are waiting our turn in a pile, like cards of a kind.
We hand over this single, shifting and centered house in the head.
Little house in the head. The bravest go in.
The smooth adherence of cloud to sky,
boxcars lined up and edging out.
Barns are the subjects of drawings.
A carving is strong and just a carving in stone.
Berries ripen in the hand.
The simple bed is too soft.