no words fettle for answers
over the sea in some waded shadow
everything jagged, shadowed, leaded
one remarks like a timid first lover
confused, a memory at its corners
like many colored snow falls
your tongue between the gulf
of reflection and suffering
the quality of a country
called the land of petals
not the vain weather
nor that the compost queen
called to the beautiful preordained
impassible ruffian
"Thou hast managed
a wave."
