The Heart

My heart is perched on the ice water.
It has a purpose. I'm parting the swollen tips of ice,
my legs awry, the whole end of one country
in a window on the water. Night is on up
and my heart remainders with the other
material, the paper and pins.


The fish lolipop the ice and
bite flies freeze.



lit with lamps.


to the bushy tips.

My heart
starts like little fish, fish of a fin country. Lo, the
cold ones and ones biting at flies
while sea spreads like a document. At night, at night
we tightend our grip on the governor.