Boiled Noise

This is the song where matches return to their books
having grown back their red heads, ready to sing
new fire. Song where an honest-to-god butterfly
lands in a child’s palm. Song where we crow heaven and
crow it twice. Song of don’t ask who had it better: the egg
or the dinosaur, the idea of something or the idea
of something else. Song of the first words of
our Constitution. Holiness of an untied shoe, entropy of who
can say. Song where a house becomes a dandelion
in a puff of savage wind. Song where time equals sweetness