SLANT LAND

Where heaven basins // in the gulping lake // the hewn lips of rivers 
wavering like speech // & paths raised to a voice // that leaves you 
breathless // Wicker grass stirs // her legs from their cross stitch //
the thatched indent of cynodon // on her thighs like healed scars //
her hair stoked // to a wick by the wind // brunette peat tendrils //
a memory foam path // to the forest // where she walks on needles
like myth // the sky // in its fir collar // the clouds sigils dusked //
by the night hanging from branches // the ground a dark mirror //
cracked by the trees gilled fingers // the sun lambent // through a 
lintel of trees // the sky choreographies // the first drops // articulates 
the forgotten language // dwr dwr splits her forehead // like baptism
// through mildewed eyes she sees // wheat swelling into its braids //
the ground puddled // like fear // wind combs its reflection.