The house faced east. It had a blank face. When it rained the gate swung shut.
Engines hummed. The lake was lonely. I ran up and down delivering an urgent
message, a buoy tracing four flights of stairs.
A jelly turned green, yellow, disappeared at nine feet.
Seaweed strangled the ladder.
A narrow fish grazed my hand. I thought it was you, pale stone;
shale rushed out to greet the taillights of a boat.
We dragged the obelisk over the gravel and hurled it into the gorge.
Said a prayer.
You had it completely; it never budged.
The boathouse repeated orange on black water.
In the basement mint with miniature stairs.
I was morbid, God was in a jar; he was curled, cancerous, tarnishing his copper latch.