A high density mouthful like plants in the grave

sending Your love like a proto-planet in the forest
of a very large moon, stealing weighing incised meander
shock waves for puppet floods never timid around You

listen to the distance of Her heart on these shores of metals
and prairie-beaten lakes off the shoulders of now-recalled
folkblues rhythms risen from the depths of oak, pine, and memorized
soft hammers that never wanted to be there, never wanted to leave home
now patient in their dismissal of river-way ash-trains
like the parted altruism of fruit trees and parked meters

there are no driveways where She has been and She will tell you
She does not have a place for the doormat or the missing lighter
but She will recover your locomotive turn where fabric stirs petitions

that will never sell at the doorway of the presented meeting house
among the math teachers and principal engineers along this rut wheel-track
and sold home endearment of new nearby parks, violins, unfamiliar hours