A presence at a border draws / the arm of the light
scarlet or not, shelter or none, / centriole and silk filament,
This is the underlife, / the Lethe running straight through every choice.
With her polished face flashing in the fire / and shadows crawling through the cobwebs of fog,
The watchers all noticed it, the quiet / changing around them. / Someday they would refuse it.
Leaf shadows vibrate on the humus. / A woodpecker rattles its brain for a taste.
Shadows drink their bodies up then slip
away. Everyone out there is saying cheese.