EKPHRASIS ON THE COVER OF EARTHQUAKE GLUE

I found you against the red hill, paper boy
scout, clipped giant and placed beneath the radio
telescopes pulling archaeology from the hot

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blue sky. It seemed as if you were straining
to imitate them, to run hiding stars through
your eyes to find the hiking path to technicolor

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or a better future or back to your home page.
The landscape around you was rubbed white
like old cardboard and you knew what it meant

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to crumble. The bright letters above promised
spectacular adhesive. And as collage, you knew what
it was like to be pasted in place—alien

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forever in someone else’s composition. I wished I could ask
what you needed and if you read the bright white line
above the dishes as fear or hope. Beneath you

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there is music, I can only hope that is consolation
for the rich tones of your loneliness. I’m sorry 
the best I could do was sing along.

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