© 2009
“***”
And though these rotting leaves
know all the timetables
you build meridians
half chicken wire
half ocean spray, a map
that has no rope, no dockside
--you log your position
by counting the drop in temperature
leaf by leaf
and because you have a scar on your arm
you rake the way a wooden boat
will sense leaves from a mile away
circle alongside, its mouth
wide open, filled with dirt
already damp and rising.
2010 Wood Coin: Of Drains and Ladders in this Life Issue: Perchik, “***”