Many men moving, trying to get something
out of the lake. Bending. Pulling.
From a raft with yellow crime tape
around it. I have to stop dancing
to look. I have to find the binoculars,
and turn off the music to hone in.
The silver offering plate of the lake stops
spinning. What hovers at the hooks’ ends?
Tooth by tooth, scar by scar, what who
will stick to which name? Or won’t?
That on and on of the not germane?
The men kneel. They yank and tug.
What arrives to eradicate the kingdom?
What enters the eye of always?