Ruffle and tuck, river fabric wags doggedly towards ocean,
Heaping surface on surface, its cadence a gown.

Bark of the birch, aria of the oriole, grit of the sand grain,
In the first stanza I shall attempt to confiscate your essence
And each time, you will slip through the noose of language,

I lie on my back in the damp grass,
Staring at the stars’ mineral precision,
Masses of gas, bearers of dead light,