In dreams of torn
Fence, fence lines,
Shovel is
Put to neck
Of stationary fronts
That snake
North
To this city
From an unseen Gulf,
Then suddenly east. Then
Suddenly south,
Debris signatures
Hot, still
On the radar when
Atmospheric pressure catapults
To
Catastrophic calm,
And the tops of trees
Go
In their old instants
From bolt-taking panic
To sold-farm stillness.
And my compromises -
My thumb-breaking springtimes - their
Choices and wonderments
Stop mattering
In the ways we all think
Mattering
Lives and moves among us.
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