Sweet mystery of night, how I love you.

All territories open up within your grasp.

Shopfronts occlude with vaporous eyes,

roads going down to the ocean

guide the sinews of ecstasy

to a holy place.

Rock walls radiate moss like paint.

Channels in the dark light up

the deep insides.  The art

of commerce with eternity

blotted out to be born

a veil of twitching mouths

pronouncing serpentine sounds

the five hammers of a floating couch.

Crematoriums for the living

are in the oiled alleys

of clocked kitchens

the lips of angelic soil

and the bones of steam

that express divine speech

the feathered secrets of its calling

locked in tongues that roam

roots raging that have no home

diamonds forming in the twilight's foam.