—A sunlit lot. Clear-cut.
                Slash smoulders. Crabs of a beer-
colored grass. A torn-up midden heap,

I let it go. Waves throw back
                white bodies and ivy twines
         in hollow trunks on slopes

   Four plates of raw
iron, folded over one
   another, could not, they saw,

   An eye is opened
in a tree
by paring away the bark,