The Air

From The Windjammer in the Forest

The air is a lion.
The air has an enormous mouth in front
and an enormous golden tail in back.
Between the mouth and the tail
of the air
huntsmen take a rest and a breather.
The air taught me
Kangarooese.
Previously all I could speak was
the language of ventriloquist clocks.
The air is a root of blood.
From its windows
clouds of flour leak out
wrapped up in
clouds of soot.
The air has a ceiling from which
itinerant anchors drop down
its hands have shed their petals.
The air takes men for real.
It turns them into warders for the wind
foaming dominos
unstamped muscular envelopes
feathered goiters.

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