Wind in wash,
Bend in brook,
The culprit is in the mire.
And the catastrophe at a glance,
Sheds light upon a darkened sky,
The hollow shell that I–
Swept beneath the cartographic floor,
Sensing geographic violence.
And misappropriated words,
Split skins and break bottles;
Corrupt the heart,
A molecular distance from the Sun,
And two small measurements from the Moon,
So our souls should behave
So that no violence intercedes.