and just then

while sitting in the left-hand turn lane
waiting for the light to change
i noticed a bird drop swoop and
alter its planned trajectory
to land in the perfect and miniature
arch of the red letter n
of the wendy's sign
coming to rest in the unseen nest
away from and yet amid
the traffic of the intersection:

quevis-pacos
quevis-pagos

sacoscabra
(water running over their faces)

there is only one letter n
in the river
in the forest there is
only one high-pitched
stone n (cueva-kuna)
there are no mistakes
in the marks themselves

kencheko poká pauká
chuy yra huguaw
kopá dúla

if i were relative to the cheek
my tongue would be a paw
and poke into the cheek
like a hammock

a slave is not a hammock
and havok is not a slave
nor a state (m-bu-sao)
(wattage running over their faces)

their chewy ears
like huge guavas

are opalescent
duels

i see hordes of them
wrestling in the water
their feathers
stand up

and run like iguanas
on their hind-legs

they run along a fallen tree
400 or maybe 3000 kilometers long
until they come
to the bohios of the bohemians

the last people
with cracked faces
(car-horn-feathered-iguanas)
and there they sit in chairs
all mother or all mouth
all-birthing-devouring
the romance of the lone trumpet

and put on their mustaches
of hamburger