Boat and fiery circle above
runnied in ditch — love has
its way with leaves, torpor.
Look at the legs, casted
from the helm through
tiny telescopes and report nothing.

Everything burns down the
heads turn talking to paper;
Cuts a raft loose from its origin,
red eyed coots blackened
bleat and cough closer to land
w/webbed green feet and some
sweet motion of severence.