by Sam O’Hana

They staggered thirsty over the reefs with a calibrated zeal

that made nude the native hall-dwellers.

A sustained loss from the exploits, the cleaving,

filling of the earth and the graves were dug and recorded

in the collected hours before dawn. These leaves, an almanac

of conciliatory efforts to placate the sacralized grain.

Their fetish commends the trajectory of our traipsing, a winding

foray extensive that sacrifice learns the names of children.

Midday is set aside, from the breathing shores a yanked cry,

echo of the crude, initial gestures, all to rend the silent heat.

Oh gathering into telephonics, which apparatus could unslice these

waves? The deed, a commandment unto collaboration.

Scrape weeds from shards of the humerus and log, etch

or launch by gyroscope, cleansed once by the drinking rain.