Of twenty dollar bills floating
On a lake toward sound’s high on
The beach, hair loaded
With the sun’s trees. And setting between
Two maple trunks, its skeleton, after
Mind’s shadow’s been shed, and
The moon. It is full.
The two maples have roots that reach
Under the sand’s
Hands.
And the moon’s blue light
Falls in sound’s high, where a skylight
Takes in the cardinal’s song,
Shivering chests as exhales
Descend into enemy territory,
Parachutes sky-shaped and ready to land
On and cover their most evil shadows’
Heads so they have skeletons again.
Otherwise the disembodied nights will rage in all directions,
And the parachutes won’t be folded back tightly into
Their packs for the next jump. The Serpent’s head
Eclipses the moon over the house of sand
That’s spreading back into the tide’s blue castle.
The night that’s oblivion, weakness
Given away instead of accepted, has been pulled
Up from its roots like Medusa’s head,
Claws pulled across the beach toward the next wave,
Scattered with cut up snakes.
The moon is pulling the dark water back
Into its bosom, an isolated swirl
Of bones exposed at dawn’s low tide.
The enemies of the parachuters
Pick the bones up while weeping.
All of the blue of the ocean has been returned,
Homes washed away.
Light’s made the shadows clearer. That they’re in me,
Even when covering skeletons of dead trees
Of Knowledge. Their roots have been drained,
From tire swing ropes to suicides.
See how war collides sky with land and water,
Skin of moon floating on coins and dollar bills, washed away.
Bones sucked of marrow like syrup from the maples.
