Consider in my river-vault

the bam-bam fish, the boat

— a line across the sky.

Consider in my trap the net,

the caught shared dancing fish

—  the silver tail, the swallow-jive, the fire.

Consider too the incandescent forest

—  the pitiful ash-stroked hills,

the shaved trees, the burnt skies, amber.

Floods of clouds —  sky-mirrors dancing.

Fast cars. Tourist traps. Dancing birds.

Sky again. Dancing birds.

Consider in my forest all these things.
‘And what costume shall the poor girl wear

to all tomorrow’s parties’ – Lou Reed