Within the Frame - for Wayne Hogan

Spring-loaded ladder leads to Mars, but

the blackbird turns his head away, sports

feathers sleek as the ducktail on the Fonz, 

an unwrinkled, suave Henry Winkler. 

Game floor leaves room for a joust. All steps 

lead out. The room is ripe for anything, 

a rise, a game, a tame bird unconnected 

to what's next. Context waiting to be stitched 

into one piece. Once there was a house 

with picture frame turned window. A way out or in 

or up from the game floor. Footsteps entering.  

A rise, a song. Furlongs deep. And steep.