Improv Post One Week Five

This is an improv of the piece "Two Lorries" by Seamus Heaney. What I wanted to do was capture the sestina form, but I also liked the line "I'd vision of my..." So I don't really know if I did or not, but here we go:

In one minute, everything becomes ice,
frozen over in something called displacement.
Two men wear boots and bleed over a knife
and a box. A box no bigger than my fist, or
castrated by a man in a suit carrying a sack
with a head. A woman stands next to him.

She smiles and I'd vision of my displacement,
encased in a casserole from a season or 
from a combination of wool and burlap sack
my mother used to store the remaining ice
from the winter. She lugged it with him
wrapped in one hand, the other wrapped a knife.

He is the man on the screen with the knife
and as he lunges for the same box,
square with designs of a tribe from before the ice
age. I scream. Its over in a fit of displacement
and terror, my body rolls over polka dot sheets or
agamied from a night fit, shoved into a sack.

It's over. My mother isn't the woman with him,
I'm not something covered in ice
and forgiveness, but rather poppied displacement.
Something hard to see-squint and maybe sack
the continuation of a life. With sheets in a box-
cardboard, not tribal gemed, or etched with a knife
(I have those already) it's more intricate or 

carved in letters I can't make out or
freeze in a storage cupboard with ice,
my brain giggles a little at the sack
covering my feet- not socks, but him-
my following shadow of displacement
that clutches despair like a knife.

My body aches from him, and iced
displacement wrapped in a sack and
tied over my head with a knife or truth.