Because the islands bright white          solid stone
Reach down through shifting mud beneath the creek
Except what might be seen          by radar meek
Orisons sounding the meek’s due          but none
Near for use          things lost in their pocks are gone
Never to be regained          I lost a week
Ago an action          figure’s golden beak-
Shaped mask in the dark          and I’ve come back alone

Today again to search the plunging edge
As I have come each day          and stood unwilling
Yesterday and before afraid and stand
Looking at the dark water          who will dredge
Open the bed          and risk the vipers and
Refresh the toy with which I practice killing