that fire shape, exploding into brush, tree shimmer
begging beach, beech sprayed
with moonglow
chopped out quick
-ly by the northern beat
in a bit
nursing out loud, that
peaked lyre
straightest
pine who, cunning curl
goes woop, copiously
copious laurel grafting tune, brush tune
to air, where
emergent adders rough apple
the black-
breasted buttons swallow wedges, rare yellow
bellies walk the sticks, talk the end
—it all ends any place, it all ends
nowhere—
to clashed out orbit, underground sun
dusk
eats distance, it all ends, sewn up
with flocks of leaves, so
this early loom
this starlight caught in mist
it dries tiny and rays
it croaks, it
sweats
can’t facts slip out
and feed
the heavy west