At your feet, I am a shoemaker's apprentice,
Toxic in a long day of fumes. I'm listening

To the fluorescent light come on
In April, an Isadora flinging her hot white scarf

Across a month mottled by the chemicals
Of Daylight Savings Time, in the spokes of the wheels

Of hormones turning in the unseasoned sky. In a gospel
According to Hunters, you name your bird