You can’t shut up dead dogs.
Their barking folds the air we are lost in.
Children protect graveyards from angelic swarms,
paper from origami masters,
the ice on sidewalks from thirsty birds.
Mirrors don’t see anything in us.
They look for rapture and never for meaning,
but consider a fire immovable
like the spirit of a stinking stylite,
eyelashes grown between the toes.