For the cherry blossom in the fountain
of the water of life,
torn shades that have broadcast summer,
quake-cracked roads, salt baths
in the pine-led loins
of the hills,
and dark water lying still.

A citadel of bottles
in the storm-packed woods,
ooze of underskin
leaning the horizon,
forked demiurge in the leaking
harmony of upward
canteens on naked spines
berries glinting like coal
candelabra thoughts, trees, nights
pedestal'd on a wish knockoff.