Chord

Come the marrow-hours when he couldn't sleep,

the boy river-brinked and chorded.

Mud-bedded himself here in the root-mesh; bided.

Sieved our alluvial sounds—

Perseverating fiddler-crabs pockworking the pluff-mud;   

(perforated) home-bank gurgle and seethe;   

breathing burrow-holes, under-warrens,   

         (pitched) pent-forts, coverts;   

a rabbity heart-hammering amongst the canes;   

bleat of something;   

sleeping Mama grinding (something) with her jaw;

Daddy rut-graving gravel driving off;

the desolated train-trestle rust-buckling   —and falling;

an echo-tolling cast-iron skillet like a gong;

downrivering      gone      (gone)      gone      (gone);

Sylvia supper-calling her fish-camp fish with a bell;

putting her tea kettle! wren-calls on for the crying   

         marsh-wren orphans;

R.T. tale-telling down by Norton's Store   

         "Where every Story cauls a Grief";

Daddy   —nine-eyed, knee-walking—   aisle-weeping at the Bi-Lo;

Mama mash-sucking sour loquats in the shed;

ire-salts quartzifying in the dark;

the caustics;   

the fires;   

far Fever Creek revival-tents hymning and balming;

bees thrive-gilding the glade;

hand-strang bottle-oaks (and intricated yardwire-works)   

         clocking and panging;

Viaduct Forge & Foundry beating time;   

the bait-boys along the dock drum-dunting their buckets;   

vowel-howling over the water;   

the river;