Entangled

He sees birds overhead,

eggshells seared

to their wire-wrapped claws.

Their flock’s light dims

when cedar smoke sniffs hunger

on text messages

            flailing in the sage brush.

He unbraids rain from his hair,

notices: each strand

slows to a screech

when glimpsed by a steer

ducking the lasso’s            widening maw.

With flames belted to his waist,

he pins moth wings

to each word cresting.

Eyes shell-white, he ignites

his gas-soaked shoes—

emergency lights flare

in every limb of his waking.