Garden

Doves above open my eyes. Apples rot
And crush in a damp garden, slurring feet,
Stinking fence, and staining outstretched fingers.
Voices of chattering birds, confusing
Light and spilling emulsion, spit across
The dull floor of a cathedral sinking
Into the ground, a crow's subsiding corpse,
Ribs bearing red meat. A swallow dying
With a dying fall swallows every one
Of its blue eggs, yolk broken on the stones
As an offering to some deity
Of thirst, left for a dripping beak. I gag
At the thought of blood running in my veins
As fog envelopes the valley's dim lights.