The shadow of something – trying to make it out – like a pine cone. buried are parts . they come 6 by 6 in rows . separated by divers knives. they feed the swell, the rivers. diving for river pearls. Tryst pulls out a lean muskets fox eye. made for stone. she washes her teeth rinses with hand cupsful. – leans on the burlap white fabric of the birch. peels seven lines of bark in the shape of a chevron . Hearts warn round her arrows. she pulls them from her knapsacks bell and shoots in a solitary line. Streams – shadows arrow, caterpillar excuse. They know its significancer. Each one in its box – related. Scattered rows 6 by 6 by 7 suns roar. Sculpture mind. Our oars over run. White wash – golden knee piles dirt. rivals and the sonic ash inhale… external intermediate juicey froth legs tights thighs need. Oil. Smoke. Cinder. Cloth. Ash. Cough. Life alively contracted pressure hand grasp – mint handed worship. looks up from Sun – a minstrel. twice mishapen limbs of the deer. blank cover. can contain five embers crying. landed down in the overcoat. to take to the roan. the plastic ash can. turquoise leaning under my fountaining sky. the side winding. Molding and draipsing down the edges of the hive. the hut ovens. the hive winder – sharp edge shape hex. They came back down – measuring our vibrations – making sure – caring for us well enough – some of us fur covered – some snake skin lads insectoid. We remember mostly when we don’t. Our breath is the hint in this net- drive with our palms the structure under bark. She took the pine cone to my ear – slight pain its over.