I was suddenly back in bristles
when I saw the egret floating,
a stretched spline thrown down

or just knocked off. The threat
was to crack my code,
that back and forth convention

of the highway. From that throne
of all-leaned-back, the chute
was dropping.

Now a huge, drowsy brood
of snowies spangles the cove;
now the self falls absent from the car.

An unbroken seed-head.
Shoots tossed outward. A solar
system. To build planets here,

one forms galactically internal legalese.
The willows go mass-hysterical,
dragging their bodies down.

There is a teeter, and talk somewhere
of legal easement, and then a flush
of waves. Then it’s time

to stirrup in and lean.
I am racing along. I am in the current.
I am knee-deep not stirring up the water.