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

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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.