Trees

Skulls
When axes lick the ice,
And the splinters!
Splintering from the impact like tigers.

The water
Bubbles like orandas, like
Clay waiting for its faces
To be molded over rooftops.

A catcher’s mitt and elbows,
Sharp like fingernails,
In the bark of an aspen.
I wake up
To the grinding of bones.

Salty and fog-covered
Highway, a din from
The heath.
Two hollowed eyes
Communicate like whales.