a sharp as brittle as glass 
spikes strikes oiled wood
tie the ground below
a rose bubbled bottle
easy flats as surf foams
loosen smiles and sea
splashes rock dome
circled cutwater
as soft as flurry breeze
whistles and leaves
as hushed as memory
conjurors breathe
as down inside the chord
fingers fasten figure
for suggestions
in fretted spaces
as sluice and mosey walk
the line above the ocean
in single lens reflex
in frame free accord
The Coming of the Toads 