Frayed clouds
sky of fragments
veering into the root's brook
fierce angles of water
that pierce the brain,
chair's legs bothering the back shoulders
of a long broad woman,
the shore turning, a lighthouse
tossing her hair.

Grids of paper and ink
that fade on her searching face.
A harmony of moss and frail corners
caving in under the petroleum illumination
hands on tables bottles and blades
the screens rustling the glass
sawing its way down
through the wood foundation
the feet of stools
and high foreheads of piano.