the submerged coasts
midriff between codas
washes up charred driftwood
on sundown iron-wrought

where dunes sing stung whispers
on horsehair calves.
cover the eyes and
the gust’s loss to fin.

A completion of fire circles
on the dusk camp
keeps a muffled talk
with heirs of holiday images

to a scripted casuistry
followed by condensed
conclusions to halves
until these souls can only

blush lambent
like a gaslamp whisper.
The propaedeutic of
eastern flowers

bows windward
of the always-ever drawn
to a kick of instantiation
on the drape of a tablecloth

a cup placed,
a window snail-locked
that rises to open air.