Gone to the window, light there wood-glossy and in non-repose

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As in pick up the seeds and throw them into the street

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As in 1 color, gone gold and so seeing, all blurred around edges and walking

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Another sort of line this time, message burnt into the gold

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Into the edges and a man in the street breaking bottle after bottle

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                                                                             rust between molting, cries, feathers marked for the bird-box

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                                                           designed by no other, raging the wren considered through colors or crises

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                                                                        in manufacturing, entirely white, no aigretts on the back this time

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And so this to explain the glittering splash of sidewalk, such a color or a lapping

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At the river mouth, or an aquarium in the window stored in this new aperture

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Not just a hole to see through but blasted man-sized to step through

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Into the other room, call it treason, call it a certain element

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Of shimmering given off by impressions and the glowering

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                                                                  held as before though the wind sparrowpushing in the only direction

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                                                                                    they can be pushed in, sounded off, having a relation drawn

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                                                                                     between patterns of bones and the colors that feather them

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As if there were not the possibility of any other name for the color

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Formulated in the mind, an original shock of orange

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None other like it from sunset to tangerine, rendered by your feeling forth

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Of color sensations, taut wires between them outlining new objects of space

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Coined visible, invisible, or an alternate scraping of rust

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                                                                                  during the step between one side of the walk and the other

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                                                                             the birds lit from their trees, caught in cold-tongued lightning

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                                                                                           wind, air soldered, ordered to an opening and then gone

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                                                                                           through a crack in the sky where clouds had been listing

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