The night sky is an octopus
whose beak of void-shining ebony conceals
the sun who is an owl
turning round its head, chasing lightning eels
swirling figures backlit against the nothing
when it blinks the species beneath it passes
onto tendrils of cosmic unbelief
stepping over the flat circle of time en masse
one eye peering from the moon; a stone relief

The sun has a broken neck
as head over foot hurdle star-water divers
ever probing endlessly in check
always more, no threads left for the Godiva's
no cats or swords for the fish who flounder and sputter
dust of bones of their ilk left in the sand when on land they will mutter
awe- this is profound, there is snow in the sky
the relief wells with a tear in the cracks there of the moon-
if there is snow, then the ground cannot be dry
if there is water, this can be home again, soon.