SARCLET
The snow-skinned cove, the raw boned cows pace
there, a thinning man, nostrils wide, salt burn, lung-
colored water breaks like a thousand doors slamming,
shrinking shingles, and away. A gull with one wing dragging
like a banner humps down shore. Fat snow butts a fallen
gutter, the overlong cold-droozed grass slips
from chapped hands thickening in the naked wind,
falling asleep at the line, sliding darkly into pockets, and the eyes
loosening their bluish hold on the horizon; killdeer cutting
over the dunes – the sky’s market light, the sun
kneeling between clouds in thin complicated continents –
scarf trailing in air, swollen with frost – sand and shadow.
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