Maybe the sand that holds up its end of a very cold lake can also sop storm surges,
& the pesky zebras, passing through, that attach to freighters and the odd schooner, too,
But it's an old spidery autumn moon, deep in flight, prickly, wild-eyed and bright
can poke the water so full of holes the stars fall through & glisten like sandbar,
from which the idea comes, too, (not bad in itself!) of a day sun that's cut to half its size & crushed
into a million pins, knifing the tunny with the twinkling back, tearing the smelt apart.
And, yes, diving deep in mud, sticky & spawning til their eyes pop out— zebras from Gdansk!
( 2008)
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