It all fell into     the water
they dropped off into the
hole in the earth      that's
no volcano, it's where the
moon came from     that's
the great ironing board
that they use to starch
God's shirts.

It all must be pressed shut      like the plastic lips of
the prophets who buy furniture,     like the image of
the captain riding a bicycle,      like the pain of a bee
sting underneath your eye, draw up a photograph
of the survivors,       this is what you lost and where
to find it,      this is the origin of time travel received
by the most primitive humans.  That's where you put
your hands when you want to take us home.