i watched slave lake
from my solarium window
now old nick stands akimbo
on its bloodied slate
staring his omega
into bound brains:
a reverie like
‘once-lost, now-found.'
moonshine stirs
his arctic drown.
becoming is
that vision's frame.
vivid in faith
and purpose
we are imprints dotting
the lunatic wave
to steal
starlight below
surface.