Cubes cracking at the corners
give leaking light to fiber optic engines
that curve breath, move bloodless flesh
to a multi-sided dome,
tap glue into the nostrils
of a dancing corpse,
and reassemble when
their width has met
their blades with molten congruence
through the hanging dark,
through the stone fence
shorn wool blows up against
and all the split rivers
of the heart that's torn
by the land it has become.