A Country

Hour upon hour from dawn the rain keeps my head near
through clouds peopled with conflict and bearing straight
twitches of what I thought lashed again and again. We've
left so much out, this falling tide and I regard each other
quickly and then remain as it was and is like sanctuary.

Bodies heave and dance with enticement though they have
a smell that can't be distinguished from bottles decanted
within stalling corners, upended visions brought out
from behind and revealed with gilt curtains and tassles
and songs tossed out like cigar ends against the grass.

Where does the song go? When it's done singing and even
the echo the tile was destroyed for is done shining through
shitshoe depressions and version number two? When it's
fallen into patterns of leaves, beaten into passions for
shelter, sameness, regularity, guilt and leveling decision?