435

434
May what's next follow,
Post and prompter, in sequent obedience,
As the proximate tile falls.
Or-- may love's predilection be love
As day and night in time's hapless frame,
Neither wanting next, yet so.

433

432
In sleep, infiltration. By.
In sleep you
Sublimate day:
Memory a water sheet
Fading on hot metal night,
Folding into dream sight.
.
Infiltrated by wind-wrought
You, far, but in dawn-light clarity
There you are.

431

430

429
Self-regard's fair excuse
Is a child at a glass--
What seems reflection's invention.
.
But undone's time's advantage
From that center drop spread--
If it seeks reverberation.

428

427

426

425

424

423

422
These things have no significance,
Tree, sky, the walkers frozen in their search,
The still sun.
The calculus of the day is writ with small precision
On a page fading as done.

421

420

419

418

417

416

415

414

413
This is temporary, yet fixed--
In time, yet memory.
Strands of sky, voice, scent
Wove in rough bolt,
Unfurled at need and patterned to suit
A life's illusioned tale.

412

411
Inner fall turned common-eyed disgrace
Is sin undone in gallery complacent;
But empty-halled echoes are all in one.
Mispurpose is kind, misdeed is straight
In misgrained sleepless weight.

410

409

408

407

406
These emblems of selves have crept beyond memory's compass,
The shaded impedimenta of foregone need--
Once friended text and notes now unpurposed by time,
Are heaped for a second removal in the neon cellar light.