Green strokes down the rock side
and the peace of the sand pits
in an electric light
black tides that came
feathers laced along the high rise
a cracked seam
in strange mornings
sun that became wallpaper
and wood that spoke
to others while I slept
ceilings and high
windows embroidered
moon staring like a cow
low fences gleaming

and a tip to the knit hillside
where an oil gathers
vision from the stems of bone
smooth traces of prints
found dancing.