you roll in a gray mist

you roll in a gray mist
across the living room floor, over
the arm of the couch, a child’s
slinky from couch to floor
north pacific waters cascading
down the stairs — the torrent increases — is that a bird?
                                       Suddenly
launching from the fifth step, you
are a gray, falling party streamer, rushing
toward a glimmer, a shadow — destination:
the screen through which you watch the day, the world
outside, comatose as any good American