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BEYOND BIERSTADT'S ISLAND
Beyond the island, cloud tatters unwind over metal water. Above, the cliffs glitter with milky drool. The hunters crouch in their beached dugouts, fish-spears bunched in the prow like fire-stripped jack pine, elk skin clammy on their shoulders. Dogs on the shore gnash at fish heads. The foregound, inevitably a frame of jagged silhouettes. The hole punched in the door. The fallen ceiling. Broken tracery of the rose window. And the cold brightness beyond, above - snow or moonlight, the dazzle in the attic of the head.
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