Andromeda or a Shoestring

After Jim Harrison

Bottled morning in 
empty vermouth vessels,
flipped his books so the pages
faced out. He came from just the 
other side of balanced, stuffing 
soil in his mouth.

Searched for a bird to house on his
shoulder, asked to be called captain
or tree. Gnashed his teeth into time, swallowed
the fractal, bungling eternity. 

To the crow on the back of another and 
the branch about to crack, smooth sailing!