Abraham Lake

When I was half  of  who I am      your voice came along

rewarding me with provocations.       It was a fulgor, as

beautiful as treasons on the outer       banks on another

night. There were horses, wild ones,       whose thunder

abandoned earth for lattices of  successive       hoofbeats.

But now the air is brittle. Now    hymns are drifting in

and out of  the atoms of snowcaps,    in and out, freshly,

of  the bread of  flesh and the wine    of  bones. The lake

is covered in frozen bubbles | so that       anybody who is

significantly trypophobic will want to vacation elsewhere.

Tomorrow these wooden panels will be feeding | worms.

Tomorrow strangers will arrive wearing masks. They will

replace us with precision as we calmly remove our masks,

departing as their world and ours fills up with evil flowers.