Drift Ice on the Cargo of Eternity

Verglas on temples
of the old reticular presage
like harm on the antelope’s
causeway, froth and electronics

stable home for junior salesmen
across an arch of the empiricists
knowing who to blame,
how to squander, and how to leave

the peaches in the sink for God
to perceive as a cry for help,
along the old cabin overpass
where the stalled trees sing night

for winter’s gold-rushed
decillion corporate bouquet
like a wish in the cargo of eternity,
attentively hired for drift ice,

at 4:00 a.m., when the cargo
lays flat for mutual apprehension
patronage sings flat, becoming
the restored donning estampies