...here, once again, at
year’s end, you rendezvous with
fracture, severance, with
those signs that, vehement,
lead —ineluctably— onto
flaccid landscapes of their
spaces we’d peopled, once, with seraphs and dragons, with fork-
tailed water nymphs, in default of which a silent hysteria
had all too insidiously arisen.
as it did, the very mechanisms of attribution.
now, confined to the inferrer; desire to each of its disassociated
once, had fabricated wings.
as we had, a space every bit as imperative as it was, by nature,
heavy with foliage, with the wild dicing of our own exhausted
syllables, was never more than what the breath –the breeze, that
is, within the iris of the breath— had transfigured
first tenuous outlines of an irrecusable ‘there.’
hallucinatory residues: the hard mirage—
is, all muscle and murmur, about the rippling screens of the wasn’t.
enshrined, but only for the length of our own tenuous
...otherwise, but a
squabble of bluejays in the
struck orchards, but the
spillage, the unremitting
dismemberment of each
was only in
the ruins, occasionally, that you’d awakened.
in enumerating artifact, cataloging all that auroral debris, that
you’d intuited —your ankles jingling with shadow—the first
stuttered increments of passage.
of the forgotten the yet inexpressible.
leaves and every bit as evanescent as whispers, what —at last—
might track intention: everything, that is, that’s ultimately meant.
darker towards dawn, the
very moment, is nothing less
than the face’s first
hesitant apparition, its
vaporous mask, gradually, filling
feature. for whatever
speaks, finally, trans-
note opens on
deep corolla of a mouth, and
the mouth, on the