Resurrection

Summers we lie out on the hot porch
palms splayed—

raising flames from ragweed

hoofed dancers from the boundaries

tornado’s sharp-toed steeds.

In the rusted truck behind the barn
a tufted titmouse sings

balled up like a stone

its stick claws stiff as thorns.

When the nest of starlings 
built in the eaves
drops a hatchling

we steal its pink 
body to the roof

lay it out beneath the lightning.

Our mouths creak open 
to the honeyed light—

tie-snakes bind our feet.