It’s the dream again — ankles & wrists pinned Down by the rogue wave, useless wingspan Stretched like a pale shoreline. This is a continent of disremembrance. Fog-charm. This is the plow — Crumbs on the table, forks in the sink. Stout & fugitive — Indian summer, Traps for last year’s ants. I am only a tenant. I did not think of you today — The slow growth from an unimaginable, Patient as a whale watch.
