Cold enough
as usual our breath
in clouds expires

in changing formation
(interpretive dance)
at last
the masses dissipate.

Spirits move
as spirits will
a thousand birds
warble and trill/
trill and warble
no less real
than the more material.

(In fourth grade
mid-sentence
reading aloud
an acoustic ceiling tile
crashes down
on my head—
when the glue loosens
the sky in squares
may fall).

The day moon
we will on her way
looks on careless,
resolute to stay, clear
through afternoon.