purifier

water nibbles at the root, for opening, closing and replacing
and out, way out, the ocean whines
like a child for more

my hands - charred and veined like winter
- drop the spanner and reach to
rest on the soft silver; sliding bottom, hood.

the disk-stack harbors wormholes, and fuel and oil
float briefly in the gravity of a titan planet
spinning madly in that blue skull!

and i think of annie proulx, how i loved her
when i sat by the pool last night and drank and smoked
and slipped into her wyoming.