How to Plow with Feathers

Locked in the vaults of silence
And darkness inside your skulls,
We have to make our own shows,
Stories in another sense.

We amuse ourselves turning
Your impulses inside out—
You want to imagine wind
As walking through the forest,

The blues walking like a man;
We want you reduced to tune,
Wishes emptied into wind.
Imagine you free of us!

There’s a child down by the road
Making noises and twitching.
There’s nothing in it, you see?
Just shadows of other things.