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.

405

404

403

402

401

400

399

398
The smallest world
Is a circle too
Encircled too with stars
And rounded too with time,
Distance availing inversed.
.
Photons as selves is a weary
Conceit on your north skin,
Ensconced in 3-mirrored sin in grace emerging.
.
Being there,
Termed in emergence,
And infinity twist, to oh.

397

396

395

394

393

392

391

390
One more cigarette, three then,
While the shadows stand still as the sun
Still as dark flakes of stone
Not strewn but solid blots of earth worn through the pavement--
Unlike my sensorium cruelly curling as the smoke,
Finding motion in the still air,
Disyielding in its unweighted nature:
Not without the earth but woven in,
With, of, notion and light.

389

388

387

386

385

384

383

382

381
Local conditions show little
But to eyes of touch and fingertips of sound.
.
Heed the blood whisper
In intricate isolation's channel night.
.
And move the stars with a glance
And surrender cold to unfelt light.

380

379

378

377

376

375

374
In the disagency of stillness
Cicadas evening the tree, its green memory
And darker shadow.
It is night standing, dreams leafed waiting,
Edged still with foregone sun,
Ricked with insect agenda,
Unvoiced voice of dark.

373

372

371

370
In the morning kitchen the floor is barred with the partners
Light and dark bipolar,
Eyeless in extremity.
.
To pace the span to natured end, or put elbow to rail in pre-silence,
Were self-construction
In duplicate purpose.
.
The best of dark and bright
Seems birth-ordained illusion,
And disillusion then a glass, the world beyond.

369

368
The sunday august pale street morning
Furling out the flagged mats slap
Gainst the post, car cleaning,
She swung them shaped in her swinging
Woman be so nor emblem nor other
In her hip curved cleaning
Of the car.

367

366

365

364

363