Glass-bottom boats scanned warily by the far-off sun,
A lidless eye reflected on the waters of the frigid sound.
Mud by the shore molded by the imprints of many
Sightless lovers sucking wounds from their hands.

Their taste intensified by blindness, their pupils never diminishing
Though immersed in the brightness of a saffron field.
The shallow sky was a blunt edge to everything that grew:
Seasons of wind-burnt wheat-stalks transformed to saw-dust,

The irate ghost of a worker dragging his rake under the overhang of sad willow;
a slight tremble of tangerine water as the sky could no longer hold its own color.
to the receding horizon of fallen leaves.
How quickly we are absorbed into this bright powder of air,
Awakening our allergies to the rash flight of birds,
Drowsily feasting on the frenzied darkness among us.

Evening sprinkled with ash, deepening its hue about the keels
Of sinuous currents, the amber buoyancy of debris.