Teeth in black throat
Its sounding forced boom
Their shape for a bright cool cloud.

Thick sticky web strand to branch clutch
This swing, and bear belly flat at the edge.
Thick my own sharp sound
Becomes cloud clay

Sinks beneath the soil.
That crushed net, dart-quick out from trees
And grab red fruit in wrists
And yellow gum cooling at night, and dandelion milk.

Black to claw hands
About the eye, these tired eyes.