Gallous

cleverly arranged lightning,
three little pockets of bird
hanging from it,
exceedingly beautiful in
their wait

for closed sound shurikens
inside bricks inside
pylons that hold up the bridges
who wait

as people in pairs of socks
(sliding doors
opening out as sockets)
tremor,
their lip friction
shaking the suspenders/

before they can know;
a tumble
takes a shadow,
napes it to the wiring
for the beaks to come pick at
to undo (fervently)
the knots in the absence 
of light.