Flesh and face and circumstance and
Cracked unlovely countenance--it's nothing to
Disappear when the stars dim down, still less to
Return when the moonlight slows. Ah, here it is.
The moonlight slows. Honour and promises and
Envelopes to birds, and now I'm awake.

I'm awake

I'm awake and my fingers
Seize in woven knots recurved,
Recurved and then recurved again and
Finally, recurved once more, my
Whickering prehensile claws unsheathe
From fingertip to elbow's lap.
Rotten cogs and motor oil and
Mince and copper wire, black
And tangled clockwork arcs in blue
Bouquets of ozone tracery--speaking presently,
Sleep never came and you never came and
This is so crazy but I'm virtually convinced I'm
Possessing of the incorrect number of limbs.

Slow, as if beset by dreams and
Presently, afraid to fall asleep.
Encircle, bullpen predators.
I'm not afraid to die upon this hill.

Arrow! Ah, a string, a bow:
Arranged along my hand just so.
Quiver, quiver--bowstring crack!
Shimmer, bowstring, forth and back.

Liquid speed, rude wings alight:
Which demon drives my arrow's flight?
Which dream could guide my arrow home?
Which dream, when arrows fly alone?

He's tumbling... quarry! Mumbling gore,
Stumble, snort... ah, quarry. Fall.
My arrow dreams of flying, I
Dream only of with whom it dies.

My limbs are sound, my trunk a tree!
Oh my goodness gracious me,

My wings abound my back… just see!
See what sorrow's found for me?

To a man, my
Guides agree - I
Drip with electricity

In certain lights. This
Scrap of flight, of
Gilt and gold on moonless nights

Exceeds all dreams
Or simile:
We've trebled what was meant to be!

Wary sermons
Bound up tight
Yet back to back - first day, then night.

First white, then black
Then left - now right...
Yet here I perch in weak twilight.

One constant, though,
One faithful rock:
The one shaped to my shoulder's notch

I find my feet,
Outrun defeat,
Collapse where dawn and twilight meet.

I'm building a cathedral out of
Needles, hope and wire;
Cast-off iron, nickel, tin
And coins of low denomination.

My rosettes dress the sunlight up in
Dripping gems, like royalty;
With scarlet slows the sounding bells while
Amber makes the dust motes lazy.

Seven halls, eleven arches
And eighteen darkened booths
Hold a single breath - an unfinished
Thought with a heart of dripping water

And legs made of undressed marble.
The steeples dip their faces in the rainclouds
As I crouch among the shingles with
A wooden mallet and a mouthful of nails.