or,
during the full moon I planted a scarecrow on the roof
maybe he planted me, it was hard to tell
he wore a blue hoodie
he did neighborhood business and lacked a movie voice
he straw tinted
eventually even his breath turned blue

one night at 3:32 a.m. during another full moon he knocked
“I really like the view up there, but it’s cold”
“welcome home”
“I’m not scaring anyone, what’s the point if I’m not scaring anyone”
“a doctor asked me the same question recently”
“birds land on me”
“sorry. maybe I made you unwell”
“no, I like it. they call me blue. they peck sleep and salt from my eyes”
“that’s sweet”
“the moon is disappearing right now, that’s really why I came down, I thought someone should know”
“it’s called an eclipse, the moon will be back in an hour. its cause by us passing between the moon and the sun”
“isn’t that dangerous”
“yes, I’d say so”
“sometimes the really small birds tickle, and bite. I don’t like that as much. or when my breath punches holes in the air”
helping the scarecrow,
wasn’t that the best and worst that I’d done

he’s sleeping on the couch now,
next to the bookcase where the other vanished marvels live
they wake up mornings and celebrate the day like long lost reunions
I’m the only one who cries, a good feeling
scarecrow goes into the kitchen sometimes and chooses a knife
with a quick cut some of me comes loose
he never tires of holding it up like celluloid to light
“look, a slice of life”
then we look at it together, laughing our asses off