1

now they are gone
+++++++++++++++the thin weft of chatter
+++++++++++++++the hours and years
leaving us here alone
among the stuff life gathered
along the parabolic passage
of your story
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++lynched in the tattered rags
+++++++++++++++photos and saints
the jumble of events
+++++++++++++++routines
that clutter up the concave passages
and ghostly branches of the veins last strength
are coiled behind the ear and eye

+++++++++++++++hold out your hand
+++++++++++++++and you can touch it
still
+++++++++++++++along the air
that was
+++++++++++++++uneasy in its fathoms
+++++++++++++++and the trial of limbs
a flicker of that quick black dust
of those fragmented
and remembered ruins
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++even now
deserves its little inmost call

2


already
there are the roots dimensions
delving
deciphering the tones
of almost breathing seas
washed up against a century
that sends a nerve along
your delicate finger
twitching
++++++++++++++++++++++(gripping)
mine
and body of skins
creating sunlight
reflected in some other
++++++++++++++++just as
the threadbare welter
of the sounds and smells
at finis-terre
rocked in old green
and in another further slumber
of its headlands

18

dawn
cantus galli
last
+++++++++++++++lost chorus
before
+++no morning

+++empty now
the sudden rasp
of noise
uprooted
+++++++++ploughed prowed
through the same eaths waters
and powdered bones long darkness
in her vinculo delictorum
into slumber
falls as the gravity of skin
cast off itnot
another bed
along the filigree of dust
that life has owed her
and we trust