when grandfather dies, you make him a box
not as voyeur—there is no glass—
but glue on rusted electrical switch
outside you count the number of buttons same
as the number of his children, their children, his wife
you believe the number was 33 so choose the same number of rocks
before delivering the sculpture to Mason cemetery
a blue parakeet will sit beside it—a jewelry blue
you’d little imagine in reddirt windmill town
the bird will land tickling shoulder to arm
before flight towards your grandfather’s shop
you will follow it with your eyes
into purple thistle tree
alighting next to metal ladders
the short man who looks like the circus
drives up dust in the city caged truck
he helps you lean ladder to roof—
where there is nothing but asphalt and field
you wanted to touch all this white paint
wondering how it could be
held in such a small blue can
you reached to touch the closet but
the tall man in the boat hat exhaled
you mustn’t the white is titanium
he drew the chalk
circle around you painting
countertops tables and chairs
he painted the closet white
then finally erased you free
dead at the foot of the door
rests your blue apparition—
bury it in newspaper sound
emeraude what eden between congregation?
paille why titanium in lieu of hay?
spiral becomes bird tourist
what white eye splash of blue?
mais why does the word but commit violence?
an hourglass is not made of corks
napolean why encryption in wooden box?
mode what melody will it sing?
pensée when thought-flock constellations
ciel what is a box with sky?