Meanwhile a poet
puts the wild god in a book,
ships him overseas.

Picture me ashore
clutching the dusk horizon
waiting for the wild,

awkward god to step
off the ship and off pages.
Picture him smiling

as he fuses the
horizon to my marrow.
Picture my femur

break from sheer vastness.
Sparrows pick up smithereens
for their own portraits.

Meanwhile a poet