Forgot the dream that led me to the cane
But how the rattle tempts me
Wide and scraping
Sit and dry
Make mica on your skin

Divide your forearm
Like a stack of yellow news
Muscovite sheath
Thick billfold fray
New glinting slots the sun can breach

The cane flares open just before a hill
I see the bronze plate water gleaming
Flawed like pollen, settled and was cast
A spectrum frozen flat upon the gleam

Now gold has turned to black
Frogs pierce the ear
I’m in the cane
Forgot the dream that led me here