Daylight rafts and moon-sunk canoes
paths that skirt the fenced-in houses
ice around our places to be walked on high
where the sand hills are gone
heaps of crooked rock
machine shoveled stacks of water landing
a rioting fan of eyes
the plume strutting in a field of daggers
raging, open follicles that dilate and blemish
shorelines mapped in plastic lines
molecules of the pale man's world
coming flag to mailbox
with a skillet of sinister ham
toning the arm of reproduction
in a hive of mirrors
dripping oil of lips
face coming out of the roof
like a surface buoy.