Against the cracking climate.
18 lines✦
ll morning, with smoking breath, the handymanHas been draining the goldfish ponds. They collapse like lungs, the escaped waterThreading back, filament by filament, to the purePlatonic table where it lives. The baby carpLitter the mud like orangepeel. Eleven weeks, and I know your estate so well I need hardly go out at all. A superhighway seals me off. Trading their poisons, the north and south bound carsFlatten the doped snakes to ribbon. In here, the grassesUnload their griefs on my shoes, The woods creak and ache, and the day forgets itself. I bend over this drained basin where the small fishFlex as the mud freezes. They glitter like eyes, and I collect them all. Morgue of old logs and old images, the lake Opens and shuts, accepting them among its reflections.
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