The wind begins to turn
the pages for me and I drift
like a drunk in a skiff.
Goodbye to eyes
rotating in to watch
self being watched by self.
The wind sounds angry
in the leafless trees,
as if a grave were opened
and found bare, thick
with walled-in air.

I wake up in my skiff
and feel each untentative
heartbeat forcing blood.
I find the place I've lost.
A heifer slowly swings
his thick triangular
white face
to watch me sit.