Loan
And then your own page, loaned in prefatory light: the print dissolves into corners, letters loosened at the borders— and you read as the aviator reads, tracing the sleeve of the Chesapeake, wandering a blaze over Broadway at night: you the prime mover, who’d dipped in the foam circling your ankles and washed, and wrote it all as if on water: miles above a dust basin deep in the continent’s plexus, you felt a bitter stream scar, trickle on the land.