call to me the one among your names
that opens beneath you intimate
as your next thought cymballing on the shore
arranging all those grains of sand
mica in the mosaic of the bank's portico
all your lived and storied coordinates
that you are young
that you are blank
in the air in the cluster of antennae
the remaining Barton men make of themselves riding back
the yellow fire hills of California
slip between understandings name
the single ridge of bell bronze that tins the wind out
