The way the lines of a canoe meet at the prow
& drag its wake into the shifty stream...
so the coiled magnetic Dream
inched toward its heart (Meanderthal crow)
& etched a compass rose in sunburnt iron.
Ev'man's, Ev'woman's. Common wheel
it is – from whence we make way, reel,
sway... (wobbly vinyl, nasal violin).
That figure up ahead in riffling wind –
whorled seed of one acute beak-vertex
(drawn from fiddlehead stump – like Ex
from welded, wedded stone). Tomorrow's
tamarack, no doubt. Away up north.
She's somewhere, man. Someone. Somehow.
Dancing on the parallelorim of Orion (cold
fire, through & through). Near Duluth –
with luthier, methinks. Fiddling around.
A round. & haunts us (as she pokes
through spokes) like a folksong
from a screech-owl (Appalachian
sound). Wisdom's feathery whiz
across branches (somber, green)
with carrier's premise (has-been,
will be). Mourning, morning. Is.
& the gate, a gate, of winding tree-
rings, singing. Leaves, sets out, from
cornice of stone pier... & the plumb
sounds – blares (her owl-hoot harmony).