Sparrows disappear
As the shape of a wing is recognized; 
The front door, walked to 
On blue oil,
Hinges at the bottom; 
Gasoline hoses wave a heavy hand; 
The sky shatters like a blue shell; 
Veins from the back of the right hand pull free,
And float in the air, a tree of dead blood; 
And there is, suddenly, one more step 
At the bottom of the stairs.