the poem stands on the clearance
a breath length ahead
no woods indeed
no trees
black masts
(sail blank)
vocable storm
like transmission lines
towering into the sky
(flying sparks in bridge voltage)

slowly the verse rotates
(ducks down)
timidly looking
after itself

for this shot there’s neither penalty nor prize
“just between the eyes, that would be lovely
for the sake of decency”

is hunting down
the right approach
broadside shot nor against the wall
on the page instead
(around the corner)

when is rhythm to be found in the circumstances of life
and are we only trailing with words
lines that we have already
seen before

like archery life is
a discipline of repetition
(catch lines whirr through the air)
in writing variation is allowed