flame clutches half the world
sleeping bodies ride molten and crystal
we pole our rafts through the broken crust
icebergs rise up and float, translucent blue
the crooked seam of the rapture follows–
some unholy circumnavigation
hisses the bent latitudes
neon floes crackle from citrus to cornflower and back again,
the frigid hearts nestling in flame to follow:
we straddle the gloaming and tend to the lost
half their days laughing in corruption
eyes closed and facing the stars, screaming in packs
in the morning sobbing
rocked on glittery currents,
chests rising and falling
bodies spill deeper underground
when the hearts have scabbed
who knows what relief
to be taken over
or to be gone;
for now we sing to the dreamers
from oak
