Leaflets containing turnip seed set atop the frost
For a universe fragmented into continents
Name them, grant their history
Divine the spine from the Christ, the bent

The birds take in the glassiline water
Running from the cracks in Time
(that scab swelling with doctors, dementia)
The scurrilous cloud cover sprinkling brine

Whetted breaths stung with an unclaimed heart
And my hands moisten with moss
Spring balances my chest within its rhyme
The shroud and the deconstructed cross