The wood and the water

Fixed the fence
there’s
wind coming

Clouted and clouted
long, galvanised
rough-shanked nails
through the wood
through the dead wood, into the
living wood

The old wood burns, so I
hunch by the fire of it

Displaced oddly literate squaw

Burning sounds like pain
claws, scratches along the fibres
listen
raptured final transformation. liberation.

Impossible now to conceive of nucleii
stranged quarks
and the illusion of containment

You should dangle a hook
for fish
glazed eyes
pretending you know the water