The father wanders off in the night.

There are theories,

just as cows ease their heaviness through pastures,
invisible only to stars.

Downwind of the gate: handprints in quicksand,
a slide rule missing its case.

Boomerangs shear the color from clouds.

Carnival sweets turn the children’s mouths blue.

Deterrence would have been good advice,
elasticity a potion to come back home to.

An effigy clings to the flagpole.

The square root of if only is not factored for shame.

The constellations realign by increment,
December no more than a matchstrike away.