I would remember the rush, a day and a night later,
crouching, sliding away from screams. At four a.m.
with an unexpected town, black water crashing
in up the shore,

Canting dark hum still rolling from my ears.

he pecks around the others’ feet;
the neck is bulging, dark green sheet
as fitting snow to dirt do meet;
he is stranger than them all.

this night feels like a summer night:
not like the tick, tick, tick,
of that which you cannot watch
and so no longer takes place.