I look around and this country is handsome though we are howling

to stranger. Each day nearly curls again


with coyotes (ubiquitous!) clasping the bones of our future

mornings. When we must reckon, we apologize badly, phrase fireworks


as fire, and we see the lit-up world for a vow

we never wanted. No answer will lessen our preoccupations


so we divide our nights into segments and shame

at the crude water and tether and replication


of our bodies, each of us in our glancing quiet or looming

quavers, this awful year, seeing how casually against us


it leans in the law. We’re unhinged, and a lot of us

threaten to move anywhere sane: the fjords and cold roads, needing travel


tips to find home. They say it won’t help to be full of anger:

not now not until the ice melts until hell is more than living without.