Sunday Morning, Salt Lake City

A cough / a sigh — newspapers pile up outside the door-step / wind-chimes sparkle in diadems of sunlight. A naked man trims his beard / thinks he looks like Jesus Christ. His waxen anatomy planes of cosmology and heredity. Sap oozes into the tips of tree-branches / ornamental buds rub against the window. The sky is pure — the body whiter. Girls clad in breath pass / stand still like the hummingbird.