At the place where no thoughts descend
I am waiting, I am petting a tiger
the shop-lined streets are alive with explosions
trash-can lids and mailboxes
careening over broken glass

I'm knitting you a nun's habit
for a sister the world has not yet seen
at the place where thought
falls out of language the drum
is an erotic tantrum
is two bats grappling down the air
finders tweaked by global interference
whistle on whistle down
to the earth roamed by skunks
long lines of blackwhite fluff babies
following so many mothers

at the point where no music rises
to take the place of silence
I am following the boards of a grey dock
toward you and all your colors
you with rags from head to foot
that look like satin.