ALONG THE SENEY STRETCH



1.
A little rain puddles over a strip of fur
blackened by so many working mandibles, July's steaming, crude
acetylene heat.

By dusk pitifil islands of poplars dragged naked
by briars
tug their remaining leaves over secrets . . .

A Cooper's hawk bursts out of a copse as if glimpsing
the torn wings of a hatchling sister.

I wanted to remind you: the rain has a calming effect.
The deer and black flies stay down, smacked hard in the head.

Sometimes six new blood patterns reveal themselves already soaked
through the asphalt
during an evening it takes
to scribble a few explanatory notes, which are also pink-scrubbed,
stain over stain
foaming a mercurochrome sunset,

the beautiful flames of my former inimical self--

2.
Another automobile idles absurdly
upon the courtesy of the shoulder.
A camera opens and closes its guillotine eye.

The despotic moon flings bones in this swamp water whenever it wants to.