In this borrowed height
the view of shattered runways
traps the blood's wings.

Alleys of glass on bathed trees
that breathe sunbeams and ragged weather
sucking the green cushions of soil
with a strand prowling
denting the glow
cut through the stone apostles of thought
toward a gurgling river.

Combs float up to printed sand
settling in broken shells,
their raking empty
salt scoured and ornamental.