A Matter of Construction

by Aaron Reeder

Late in the night
            I saw the maple tree weeping.
It was full of shivering stars. They had burned out
                        from all the left turns
                                    I buried in the yard.
 
            Another try
                        a donut shop is the center for
                        all things holy—a donut shop blown in
                                    by a storm. This is creating mud in the voice
            it’s hard to give
            an explanation for the gold leaves
            making the mountain porous.
 
God, this is laborious              and clothed with words I found
                        in a sea cave building a signal fire.
           
            One last time
                        this is the proper material, isn’t real at all
                        but the dog barks at the loss
                                    of verbs. I’ll percolate what’s left of sunsets
                                                and let them rot, an intense
                                    attention through the night.