I go to sleep after a late
morning burial the fog lifts
its wet tongue with milk
foam and purple reeds
not entirely opaque
scenes of sibling rivalry
a plastic knife
thrust in the bay
window of an old sandstone
the tide is wearing
your clothes
wearing away
at your breasts now
tangled in turnip greens
we are born
at once selfish
birth is
letting loose
blind children
traversing
cedar chip trails