I built a ladder Up

but it was eaten by beetles. 

Sun architecture 

floating ashen icy inward. 

Salting my breath, 

in ribbons of salt. 

I enter the paralyzing tired

hands of Wasp

The cabin of

Shrieking Angels

Inside I found a cracked jar, a branch of spruce, a goat tooth, a fiddle-string.

Under the cedar-bark

singing was the choir of Shriek

Pollen-drunk 

We smiled, laughed, sang. 

A warning!

Do not look in there! 

Veiled cotton in your way, 

A cloak of dry fireweed moans and shakes. 

Rafters of hoarfrost and ice,

whispering lost rotting summer lust. 

Teeth cover the forest floor, 

awash in dappled oil. 

Above, pods of Orca pass through

eating swimming Moose. 

Fog consumes 

the bells.

Or maybe seeds

seeds seeds seeds in the thousands.

And in the cabin of shrieking angels,

winter is here. 

Backwards flows the sap, 

Up or Down but all the same. 

The vessel

rasps the shore. 

Lacquered teeth

chip the plum ground. 

The crow calls

Along the birch and the shore. 

the arrow sings.

of red wine. 

Fragmented, he saw, 

A sapling: flowering genitalia

Trudging  through seed-littered snow.  

To sully the hall, to split the timber, the brown branch,

All in a voice of leaves. 

Cotton veins, when pressed, 

Speak the same. 

Still the hair grows 

Still the man speaks

Still the fiddle crows a fugue. 

Calcareous home 

in red reflected.

Salmon lung:

A breath in spring. 

Otolith telling where those rivers run. 

Branching tributaries

red flesh residing, calcareous home. 

Up, down, 

red flesh residing.