Red balloons fell all evening.
Feeling tumble-
              weed, I disassembled
objects to put in – language
                                             with mushroom,
the late dark lake.    I wept
at the first
                fluke, at the patter
of water-running birds.  Saw
the windmills,
                       a circus of swans,
injected preparations
                            of sense organs.
Taste the lure,
               mute, forcibly seamed.