When the day I prepared for so long
comes in emptiness,
comes with its wide streets quiet
I want my damp solitary grayness,
my unscreened corners
flapping wings to disturb the dusty colors,
the messages of drains hiding it all
deep in the earth.

Let the trapped grain
be under its cloud
trickling varied innards,
flutes in muck and long tables
swept by sheen of mirrored light,
a vision of watery commas
bisecting scripture to fall
into a thousand halves,
the knelt-on pebbles
holding meteoric graveyards
and prismatic holes.

Outside the courtyards and ballrooms
of observed bodies
a rounded cusp,
a shell's cracked edge
flowing with optic follicles.