1851 c/o Rory Green

the first washed bowl glitters
so credit picks and pans
the land claimed a liability
let many snakes arrive at Ophir
following the thief of thieves
who chose the riches
tore vocabulary from
the screaming larynx of land
who built the dredge
broke the circuit
burst most undivided energies
to scatter like snakes into brush
not worth a golden wedge though
or the many tree rings pressurized
blackened past the deaths of
pithy civilizations if such they may be called
from far distant shores
who cannot as yet form the most remote idea of
the object in view

closer than it appears
so mice pulled it to pieces
rinsed the buried mountain
stones ripped from their circuit
the old veins, that magic body
its limbs adrift across dry earth
they kept mum about it
and Kendal and the command of water
but we remember the letter
speak fondly of the almost town
burn our hands on hot days
left with such strange bandages
as steel picnic tables and
barbecue facilities