Accounted For

Ekstasis

18 Ekstasis unfolds continuously: feel the spinal flow, those children running down the block, running to the widow’s house whose windows shine with Irish ivy. Remember the giant beehive broken open like a head? Acoustical honey dripping down the lilac? Nine parrots come pecking at the foot of the porch stairs. A dance begins in the seed set out for the sparrows. The old woman claps on her knees, calls these children “my band of feathered pirates.” Think of her green stuffed peppers, grains of light following the ghost of an encore signature all around the fastest toe bones. A jig— feel the awkward pieces of comb left on a windowsill to dry, ripples through the flesh, a hand holding another’s hand in the dark. ...