August 23


a man will pick
bones up by the river bank
and call it fish

his knowing
to the water with a smile
and tip of a cap

fooled to the last
as the stars
cut the sky into
or butter

see that glass one
shatter into
green, purple, crafty,
that complication of phlox
into which the artifact
has passed,

here’s to dead men
and the bones of fish

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