a dropof water ripplesthrough wine
mussel boundmy beard to the rockof doubt
slivered moonmy lips come to gripswith wordlessness
frost-born daytime now to hearthe soundless
imagine thissee it comes to youmy sacred tree
burial moundanother myth lives up to its name
given voice my poem respawnsas vapour
between youand the you I amthe sound of
birth-gaspmy head passes throughthe sweater
sepia-stainedI pitch my tentin the past
in the voidof non-sense— nonsense
when time was newand space a waking dreamthe verb to be is
in congresswith the ineffablethese words too
words writheto the serpentine graceof my pen
this! this!nothing of nightnot known
so much depends upon fireworksin the fogof war
death-dealtnight piercesthe anima heart
the other selfslipped by a shadowyou in I
the dream-timedarkness envelopsall the same