no other place of refuge,
the last lithic masses of snow
melted now to run off
and be river. his last mask
fallen off a ledge
from great height, shattering.
the face that wore the mask
elsewhere.
darkness cut from skin folds.
out of the duct, dry air
hunts down the space behind
a tapestry nailed to the wall
and the turtles dance in heat-
billows, the elephants dance.
they the animals watch him
misunderstand his own bed.
a beautiful woman bids him
reaffix the shattered mask.
the snow runs down the street
toward the river, and he knows
the river irrigates his body,
floods his veins. he has drunk the river
as milk from the breast of a wolf.
no other place of refuge.
a refreezing within, a fusing.
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