Survey of Debris
Why wasn't I angry
when the east wind shifted
and everything that was about to be
stopped? That lull intensified,
grew to an uneasiness,
a fraying at the bottom of your jeans
where the denim drags.
Somehow I misunderstood,
took the tension for sport.
My body can buffet me
like a wall against the wind,
against the bleakest of weather.
Can station me in a citadel
garrisoned against the faces
in cliffs and clouds.
Summon the janizaries,
who stalk the ground
upon which we fustian loved.
Mix equal parts of water
and cement to a thick adobe.
Shepherd such a mixed flock.
Contain the threshold
of continuance herewith.
