Faces
in patterns on a rug’s jumbled display
what a tree’s bark offers and withdraws
to anonymity in clouds of course
where faces mix with birds, maps, leaping fish
slide over us like brute tectonic plates
under us but faster to imply
speed makes little, then no difference
in crowds of strangers, faces turned away
hide chatter swift as mile-high arctic winds
ground water lowers taking silence deep
ranged far above, below our consciousness
owl and cricket faceless brave to sing
of meetings promised having faces bring
The Dog Star 
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