Rock Paper Scissors
Rock paper scissors, if I could sing:
crack of frost cleaving slate, fractured
down a talus slope.
Paper scissors rock, if I could sing:
rustle of spent Sunday papers gently
pawed by a white cat.
Scissors paper rock, if I could sing:
zip of ribbons curled against the edge
of a dull blade.
(I’d steal the mockingbirds’ songs to sing
one pretty and feral enough for you.)