Bags Of Leather Fall From Murmuring Skies

a tang of vibrating butter
hushes in the mill house

the heavy black stone
is confused
in hides
that passed through horses
while the shafts
of errant
taste axle
where the flour
makes a wife of witchery

deep is the well
whose ladder descends
in a helix

and cold is the water
of mind
that dreams