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To lay bare this tent you want memory —on all sides a darkness held down by rope though one arm stays empty for daylight, the other locked in stone while you unfold the way this canvas remembers rootlessness, winds and the Earth going at it alone wobbling, just starting up —you need more rope and the sky that leans too far held back by sails spread out for the rain left over from when the sun was struck by lightning and the monstrous thirst all stars are born with though you tie each knot already a flower whose roots are planted in stone, held so one hand never dries drifts and this sea end to end a darkness into darkness.
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