A procession begins in the blue-                    black gratitude between worlds,& the Rebirth Brass Band                    marches out of what little lightis left among the magnolia blooms.                    Step here, & one steps offthe edge of the world. Step there,                    & one enters the unholy hourwhere one face bleeds into another                    as a horse-drawn buggyrolls out of the last century,                    & the red-eyed seventeen-year locustgrows deeper into the old, hushed soil.                    Lean this way blue insinuationtakes over the body. Step here,                    & one’s shadow stops digging its graveto gaze up at the evening star. Or,                    at this moment, less than a half stepbetween day & night, birdhouses                    stand like totems against the sky.A flicker of wings & eyes,mockingbirds arrive with stolen songs& cries, their unspeakable lies & omensas if they are some minor god’sonly true instrument & broken wayonstage in the indigo air.They come with uh-huh & yeah,a few human words, to white boxeson twelve-foot poles,to where each round door-holeis a way in& a way out of oblivion.