Doors open, pistons distempered
in the sun’s coming on.
Hot, greasy breeze flows round.
Leisure taken at the shoulder
by where four...

On the mountains tomorrow a veil will descend
            to the vale
A blizzard on its slow...

Boatsong in the undervault:
Draped paths, small mountains
of language. Replica dwells
as a dwelling. Curated stony dark,
open and breathless. A...