a country prostrate.
i look out as we move so slight,
though i know it was ten miles
ago i began this thought:

we are crossing over
from the midwest to the east,
the ragged geometry in vista
to the urban water,

the lights it reflects
and sunken cars it keeps.
no one reports on these antipodes.
the different rock their

erosions bear.
that there are poets
who write only of algae
and the great lakes.

angry dances that cause
a certain coastal cramp. a bother
that makes some feel astray,
even when they fold in

on themselves at night,
knees into chest,
like we all did before birth.
crashing waves,

the reflexive pleat
and undo.