A wisp off a train, jink in a summer hat.
Her coat, different and the same
our everything in its fabric.
Luxembourg forests infinite grasses pint cans
cheap chocolate and raw grain.
Shorelines of sugar rushes, cumin seeds,
Sunrise gorse in ochre clay.
The pebbles of Lost Lakes are
a temperate bed where we lie forever.
Somewhere on an infinite convex shard of ridge in moss-bark and the sediment of primordial pilgrims is the Vale Tree. Wrapped in sap, rivers of copper in its arterial leaves spark the treeline edge. T
Light refractions and milk dreams, You slink our street in all seasons, Supple ice, fractal sun, splintered tiles There on your Citroen throne. The road paves over a hollow, A gossamer tarmac film A s