In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

69 f r o m t e n t m a k i n g a b s c i s s i o n l e a f , l o o k i n g i n t o w a t e r A night-sleeping rain become now these puddle-windows where we watch each other’s eyes in a wet field: how we are not dead and buried. The bread-push underfoot: loved ones in a spherical bed so wide and round we stretch your left sole to my right to (wicker worsa) walk as each the other’s path: waking and dream in a kiss-touch continuum: breath-faces moving at the mirror lip bahbah bahbahbah, as when I did observe under the glass-skin: turtle moving moss thread, a frog’s one-eye wink, before school or any fear of the talking-knot tightening in my stuck throat, rather its opposite release, what scientists call the abscission layer circling the stem where it lets go and begins fly-fall. The gingko has an abscission leaf which when it goes, the rest will not be long: her yellow slip slips as we turn to see and feel the abscission-words loosen: night ensuing night, their resinous balsam carry my slow-spilled dose, and a long river-silence flows in the juice: a red blackspotted tupelo leaf and a yellow fivepointed sweetgum rise off the silt floor turning their tips to touch the surface from the other side and sail. • • • 70 f r o m t e n t m a k i n g I am lying asleep in a nightriver room strobed with boatlight sidling the curve, its engine throb below the cliff boiling the churn and mix. ...

Share