AFTER, THE GOD
Enter a young girl, neck
arched against black loam.
History moves in quick strokes,
in light-bending pools.
Deneb in the Cross falls down
upon the beating wings. Rapid
breath leaps at animal stroke and shudder.
A village sleeps, only orphan dogs
hear the scaled note, high then descending.
Tear of cotton, thin scent of fennel
in the bruised swale.