I watch content arrive
in stills. Walls resemble wills.
Heavy ash, mouths full of fillers.
Clout flourishes in orchids.
Bulbs collect time within husks.
A steel rake tarnishes
the ambiguity of bluffs.
Be kind to their pastoral, their claim
to fasten, give inward form.
Between the flinched rill
and the Mobil station,
which of us will their lyric trust
as shores desert us,
swallowed by fiction.