comes not to me now.
I don't need the channels of light
that follow companions of laughter
I don't need the singing shrines.
Dawn brings a fist close
to harden my stomach
leaves and their moving worlds
in the careless breezes
are more than enough.
I don't look for eyes of understanding
in the shuttered cities
or the frightened towns.
That's over now.
Broken rivers are winding
winding to somewhere new
in the solitude of night.
Let the talkers of humanity
go to hell. Let their speech
bubbles burst in radiant fire
as their guts slide down
the shaft of a solemn spear.
Absence is the beauty of the spheres.
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