Shot out over the green highway
reminded by smoke and sun
mounds melting and feeding mud
veins slimming to the sound of sliding plates
slashed water and complicated tongues
a cinch, a pure product
lovingly I sit in the drizzle of aftermath days
waiting for the closing beauty
to come in radiating queen of spade whips
leather plumes stung flyers arriving
from sky depths
shapes of galaxy-far places
hung in their eyes like a daub of paint
and cemented throughout.