1224 The still strands moved by subway light And angled neck As disturbed mercury run like a bolt From brow to nape, From point, contour. A glance to block another's gaze, Who'd gauge a depth by surface And tell a gesture Beyond the scope of ink.
1218 In the storm the swinging Trees tune the wind To that seashell space of emptiness moving, Where out is inside Gusting through marrows of sky And bruised air. The force mending vacuums Undoes old roots and veins delicate Stretch in the following calm.
1213 As trumpets the ashes Shrewdly sound and keening Grief's borrowed perception Phantom-limbed, old Apneas of love Sensed thus scarred By the diamond blue Metal shavings gullet-lodge Of death's finality. Spread from my palm's arc, Dust--this nothing has returned.