The raven-message in the ink gets blurred
in the dark. Signal fades
over badlands. Wade’s
gone upstream, Charlie – overheard
her talking about the telephone.
One with the wheel-dial
we used to use. I’ll
call you in three days, Persephone.
Grace made this little linen hanging
with palm greenery, with
red specks for eyes. So Phoebe
set to compass-pointing in a painting –
hand-prints, fingerprints, green
dolphins breaching in
a fling... theremin
flute-song – ghost dance for Iowa
maiden (midden remains). 400 years
in Utah, seems like,
they danced. A snake
coppered up in a trance – cheers
for the livid buffalo (the one
who got away)! I
don’t know, Charlie –
she’s pretty mad. The whole corn
crop is blown to smithereens.
Hazel threw her whistle
in the purple thistle –
thorns crown hills. Train-horns...