Wet rind on the branch broken so many times,
lightning-struck and re-mended,
puckering overripe orange seeded
mouth in the air, stirring the caves
of interrupted flour, an eclipsed season.

Dirt moving in tides across other dirt.
Bench and chair sleepers tight wads of grass.
Coins in the rectum of light.
Lifeless rompers.  Burnt helicopters
drifting down like grasshoppers
drafted by a child's lamp.

The tree's limb climbs the sand
in the water's sonic blitz.
A woman on the quick shore,
several birds flying out of her body.

The cloak the inevitable wears, and its closed lips.