~`~/~`

From a large leaf-hung shadow I watch
the grass burned yellow around the trembling
edges, an island built by rays through space
murmuring perpetually to myself
today I will reclaim my nakedness
march through bright parellelograms
on a toppling horizon
but the unclothed day never comes

Someone is leading a child on figure eight paths
through the park going grey under green
the swamp departed
no more slithering through roots
growth turned to granite
their years go together like a falling book

I'm attached to the dream nerve in their heads
but we never look at each other
through the arabesques of carefully torn vines
that veil the pathways, that have no door
woman leads child
there is a key on the ledge of a falling world
there are many robins in the death of one father
there is an ovoid century clamped
in the back of your neck
to be released by the kiss of distance

~`~/~`