In the weeding eye, it can
Yes, comes a measure marked
Spring, between river
& Sound, in the speed-up
to spare the number of lakes
in Wisconsin: mallards
flying in the expansion of a singular
disturbance flying nowhere.
Our words stuttering down a ball-
point pen where it snows
& no one can see how
at home I am with my white shoulders.
I built my house to my desire
shaving the outer surface of its urge to wince,
kissing the ache from my lips
that were before winging my hands
tick-tack little wind
strips, without reading, without
Here's the underwater sneak rout I found through Bull sluice,
my heart of whip-stitch & trest,
Fire on the other side.
The eye-white, sky
of river kissed.
Maybe another way of saying,
I built my house to my desire.
Pines above the shingles.
my hands & the river sluice hinging
an open door or bed.
Simply the river quicker than rock, a house &
the old cracked boat
-hulk, trees where I pass till a star
shows its gone when it snows.
Eye & knocking heart can bless
the hulk dragging estuary.
The tree-line giving way
to only motion, only speech.
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