myth 2

each citizen will turn ill
their self laws heaped inside of them like meat into a drawer
clouding their air with brown heat
they sit waiting for the sky to wash them out
the rain to run the muck into the borders of the country
so their dreams will grow fins
and swim out of their ovens

so they can again have eyes full of fish scales
paper layered pennies
mouths a bundle of lime
waving open like sea grass
with their sour fresh limbs
so they can have hands like glass
which can only catch for a moment
the dry toothed light

in church and buoyant with prayer
the towns people can see
the devil's texture of their earth
finally run their minds over the impossible ridges
of their wood, their eggs
and can imagine how many hooves
rattle the mind of the universe
the shabby animals eyes open in birth

when they can join spirits and sing
the wrestling under the grass is known
the land moves the way water does
pulsing and spreading out
the bits that hold their children together are turned loose
and everything breathes and can be moved through
with a hand.
the unbalance of change is no longer a scare for them
because there is no pause no one to grip to
they welcome all weather
and feel pleasure in the bleed