The long blank woods
rotting and revivifying faces,
my valley with me in the light
whale's back pushing a pond
the boundaries of erasure.

Some higher being in me
strips off t-shirt after t-shirt
to rejoin me here.
The storehouse of masks
ignites insignias
prowls until  morning
and cuts out the lock.

The path is the curvature of a shore
formed by a whirlpool,
the joined threads in convergence
birch maples leering instrumental fruit
fanged smile of a winged spine
tattooed on mango bark's
many seeping faces.