Pinned Down by Candelabra

Evenly spaced as ornaments,
Small saffron birds, no more than wings

Remaining of leaves on each tree
In the orchard outside of town,

Sparse crowns of wings, dark candle flames,
Inexplicable arguments

For a world of orderliness,
Of Plato’s hidden ideal forms

Lurking underneath the nonsense
Of what really is as it was

Without further explanations,
Accidents, thought experiments,

The papery gold cut the clouds
From the ground’s impaled perspective.