Scene behind the Scenery-Mask

A dream hibernates
in the ice-glow of tv screens.
The night puts on its iron gloves.
The ticket controller's stubborn profile
is tattoed onto the streetcar's window.
The debris of windy fall fields
assemble like beggars at public washrooms,
the sky is a ragged coat on their backs.
Camomiles embroider the river banks,
snuggle a bird-corpse.
The blood-stink of army posts
seep through the rose garden.