The attorneys general, the lawyers
private, the aides-de-camp
of Jefferson, West/more-land:
groves, avenues, beachside courting.
Eaves dropping to a flatter: a crack
in the thread—was it worth it
and what it was. Worth, Bond, Wall,
pellucid fictions reentered by
the grace of dreams.
Covering Dixie in Tagalog for tribute,
a draft horse felled—a riotous heat.
Fracturing, whistling identities,
a whistling shot inside
a tired foot: the chosen
fatigue’s color, July day.
First, evil whispers from me, from
me and my blow-
holed, island fife.