Nice Evening (Transmission Down)

The oscillations of her voice

Rose graves of cats

The frequencies of her steps

Woke caves of bats

Pure in sleep frozen to a tree

The black dog in my chest can’t breathe

Washed up from the boiling sea

Bones and busted flutes

The ships are in the trees

Suspended there creaky mutes

Pure in sleep frozen to a tree

The black dog in his chest can’t breathe

A necklace made of leaves

The ghosts are in the bees

Giants on the sun

And from her babies flung

The ghosts are in the leaves

A necklace made of bees

And babies on the sun