I
I wake on a burning horizon,
fly up in flakes,
drift down out of my memory
for details;
mineralize
without the slightest possibility of pain,
in a steaming slow-cook
of the earth’s crust

II
The face pushes its way forward
out of the gravity of the moment;
misthrives silently
in car paint & shop windows;
lifts itself out of the situation
in one sudden round cut
& throws itself into the manure pit

III
The message is oceanic
like a holiness in mercury,
smooth as guilt’s justification;
concave in the sea’s gravitational gaze
without land in something vanished:

the body silent-film-jerky
at the end of a noose of snow