Straight Ahead Backwards

I scurry into the sweet past
and find each bloody rosebush
right where I left and did not respond.

It's a silent perennial treatment
annulling the slime down expectations
from behind beyond the windows.

My mouse feet give the ground
a quiet treatise on loyalty:
say less, give same.

Names are faces
staring up at me
conviction convinced.

Rocks flip to give the worms air
and each body wriggles, wondering
if the sparrow can spare.