La Vague Journal - Carolyn Guinzio

Tweet, said the little blue
      If you are sitting,
bird in the top
      you should stand up.
branch of a blue
      If you are standing,
spruce.
      you should walk.
From there, it can hear
      If you are walking,
the anger of the idling
      you should run.
drivers on the highway.
      If you are running,
The ice fell too fast
      you should run uphill.
for the salt, and the sly
      If you run uphill,
city trucks tried to slide
      you should run downhill.
in under the radar, as if
      If you run downhill,
we can pick what breaks
      you should wear weights.
down. The drivers
      If you wear weights,
were letting dogs
      you should pick up weights.
off at the shoulder
      If you pick up weights,
into the native
      you should put down weights.
grass. How could it
      If you put down weights,
end in anything
      you should stand up.
but sweeping
      If you stand up,
change? They will
      you should stand up straight.
never be moving
      If you stand up straight,
again they are moving and
      you should sit down.
Tweet, said the little blue bird.

A fever.                                                                         Reading
A window.                                                                     in
A lake.                                                                          bed.

                          The dock— like the dock
                          we argued on in the dark
                          at the end of that day—
                          should rest on the marina
                          of an intercoastal waterway,
                          fish visible between the slats,
                          surfacing to eat saltines
                          shook down out of bags
                          by the kids. We brought them
                          to see the place they escaped.
                          Half-panicked gulls give
                          the fish a ten-second lead
                          before the screaming, the wind
                          knocking anchoring ropes
                          against metal poles, yellow
                          floats below our feet. The kids
                          catch themselves by their palms,
                          their eyes to the slats, while we,
                          in our minds, are seeing them
                          from underneath.

The first one                                                                 A palm
awake stays                                                                   on her back
still, listening.                                                               in unmoved light.