.....

With your fixity of tumescent passion
you adjust hotly burning things,
                touched by ice-fire too
 in the tidal run of your tour
         in the grass lands
                     in places of sand
                       where our thin alphabet
        is engorged
                  with lifeless fruit
         the dawn a road sign
                      with the windows of a gun
            pine scent under bridges
                  and in the remainder
              of sunken twisted houses
        a kiss near rattled teeth
             the earth missing