Landlocked since June, housebound for a week,
a train of dominoes derailed across the floor,
some ambassador I am.
And yet there arrives word from the coast:
Freezing rain and windshield ice.
As the red hot blood cools in her veins,
the matriarch peers through a magnifying lens
at the inscription I sent, says she sees but a marble clock.
I assure the messenger he wrote it down correctly,
consoling him for having witnessed my lashing.