Entangled
He sees birds overhead,
eggshells seared
to their wire-wrapped claws.
Their flock’s light dims
when cedar smoke sniffs hunger
on text messages
flailing in the sage brush.
He unbraids rain from his hair,
notices: each strand
slows to a screech
when glimpsed by a steer
ducking the lasso’s widening maw.
With flames belted to his waist,
he pins moth wings
to each word cresting.
Eyes shell-white, he ignites
his gas-soaked shoes—
emergency lights flare
in every limb of his waking.
