Shake, shiver, there’s a white light at dusk
flat behind black veins of flat black trees
and red eyes blazing in a black tar stream
and pairs of yellow headlights floating, marching.
The short horizon like a sliver of tangerine peel
dotted by mud, clouded with black cloud bodies.
There’s a reflection of the higher blue in my side’s window:
fine branches crowd and quit its imperceptible frame.