Here Lie the Missing Pieces

The moon falling into the trees.
The clouds splitting in the morning light.
The sky shattering like glass.
The day, a brief flash in the shadows,
Vanishing into the night.
Crowds applauding in the dark.
Rickie Lee Jones singing, “the weasel and the white boy’s cool.”
The plagal cadence.
All broken, formless,
Streaming here.