As the descent began I got the distinct impression    Lake Michigan had been frozen for decades    I conducted the warmth from my metronome sternum    To our massive jetting vessel billowing plumes of spent fuel       The tundra under us cracked and ruptured   To reveal palisades    Made of blades of gray, gray bristling grass    And papulose lichen    I was so frightened    As my grip on you tightened    Your skin got slicker       I am a deserted bus depot    Though our approach suggested    An American hazy sea    Like the one I found inside    After driving you home once    Still half high       I-90 through utter desolation    I sense evil at the heart of each far flung well lighted home    I close my eyes and see cellar stairways    Vermiculated with delicate animal bone       Musty rooms house racks of fur jackets    Spattered with plasma    On a bus in Indiana    I called you and screamed    Under ceaseless patterns of weeping light