Graftings I.
Treble of
noon. Light like a piano concerto Mirrors crawl
from the sand. On their knees. We live at
the edge of a word like Sirens Horizon bars
the distance. The blister of Jupiter Sound is
a lighthouse on a faraway island. II.
This is the
sound of night sputtering through reeds. cast over
our graves. These are our wings, A man knocks
lightly on Deaths door. Wide avenues
fill with light. Engulf him. This is the
path the mans footsteps have taken. III.
Someone pours
honey down a long well. Footfalls
on the palace floor. A nation
begins its slow unfolding. Through the
arches of doorways, IV. Waking, the
seabed at my door. Let your
small brain crowd my room. I opened
the mystery of my life, It smelled
of wood-smoke, ransom. of my looking
glass, my memory,
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