to dig with pickaxe
a chop chop sound
arrhythmic in exercise,
ground broken
rocks, worms, roots
yields a hole cleared.
spread and clear,
arms muddy
dirt under fingernails,
this is safe earth
a stone felloe
and spoke of small sticks,
arid grass, branches cracked to fit.
rat-proportioned teepee
in it and of it
hoarded material
meant for burning,
for refuge.
like pocket knife, scrap paper
folded for a dull edge
scraped fingernails
then to penetrate
the wooden ingress
with Prometheus’ goods
filling epergne
barbaric.
smoke wove
up through centerpiece
intertwined like skinned races
then flame
engulfing them all the same.
up and up
ash rose as bats
around the form of man
arms, hairy neck and face,
mouth tasted it
nose inhaled it
eyes watered into it
the ears did nothing but feel the heat.
parry branches
wind
the canopy
to find all the space,
between here and the moon,
to dissipate into
