poem pome pmoe mpoe

Waking up in a rainstorm on
the Utah freeway is like waking up
a glass coffin: the water rushing
thick like dirt on the windshield, each
thwmp of the wipers another shovel-
ful heaped up until

there is no land deep enough
for such a grave unless I
am some mountain's seed
and in the sun I will bloom.

poem a this time

poem under revision