The sun beats mercilessly.
A coastline invites the violence
of the great lake.
A sinking feeling of a boat. The battle
of tides and limbs. You can see
the colors, the dragons
flying. The blasted sky
and blackened clouds. A shriek
sets the lake on fire, as the dusk sets in.
A tribal instinct to burn
the fences, set the horizons
free for a new comet, landing from
unknown space. You want to touch
the lips of a mute, blotted moon.
Fireflies start dotting the night.
You move inward; find a dark
niche to graze the wounds. The hurt
brings the words. You pick up an
axe and start chopping
the dead wood.
