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.