Father’s dying ceased,
when he refunded this ours
for fused hands plaster-coated
ffffffffffin a glottal stop’s brief paralysis.
Pinpricked holes for eyes,
reversible teeth hemmed in copper thread,
polished browbone swiveling
through trimmed hedges—
nnnnnnhe atrophies this aftermath,
nnnnnnnnnnnnits highest frond withering on maps
nnnnnnnnnnnnthat dreamed our shadows waterlogged.
He then moans a constellation of anchors
flung at blue birds pausing mid-flight
where pewter wind
nnnnnnnnnnnncreaks shut over the raft’s hesitation.
He explains the sun—
not carried by horse,
but a ceiling lamp
flickering on our computer screens.