Insulae washed with roseate waters, eastwards flow through their toes, eastwards over the rootwork trailing far out of sediment. Lapped by rosy water, licked in and out of shape, their flesh undulates in the run; infused and scented with petalled rush, accruing the definite weight of enfolded detail.
What is this land, this peak from the fleuve? Particles lathered to ambergrine jelly, roughed into stalwart juts—polished into diamantine buildings, splashed in the rosy run.
-2001
