Cream curve of a melted street
bubbling up the gradual hill
trees popping like roman candles
until the open web is an inlet against the sky
pouring the praise of hands
out to bloodlessness
the grainy sill of a ship's window
the shards of little bodies
stabbing at feet on a treadmill
forks of A-frame houses upside down
shingles bleeding sand.

The cursive of a long knife
on the back of an empty shelf.