10


It's how not adequate fantasy is
Though it sings above our debts
Like thrushes or nightingales, though
Each time the wood collapses sideways down the cliff
Trees rising up and stabilise the dirt
Like the connections of people who will
Build again on our ruins
Until:
                the point stops
                a still voice
                the last chance
                before the dive
                                                  no more holding possible
Onto the grey house-sized rocks
The big hard fantasies
We always smash onto