Why am I suddenly shrunken against the thumb print
of a lake with strong ocean waves.
What is a small section of covered forest
shaded with leaves and trunks like Paul Bunyan's
doing belittling my own arms and legs.
There're the enclaves and spaces
inside a tree trunk, broken into cleverly
and a pinch of sleep hits the eyes
upon seeing such emptiness;
to describe the crackle of pleasure
of observance is killer on the head
like a sunburn on the scalp.