Your patience is her picture
It is one last rose buried in her voice
Your careful dalliance becomes her wine
Her children wait at the port
It is vengeance
A stone animal turned in the earth
A white hourglass
She is the early thought
Your fingers perish on
the paper edifice of her temple

Staring with the spider
into semantic oubliettes
The cats have all gone mad
The hounds growl at shadows
The guards in the tower
hone their bayonets
The night is red
The shroud of crow
follow my car
past sleeping windows
then lift like one
legendary rook
The snow falls in my headlamps
and my mind is a cemetery

The thousandth
****** beneath
Lake Baikal of
The Trident
The gods' mouthful
bristling iron
is spat ashore
Leviathan's bones
glint and crackle
Man is one celled
Apocalypse
yet to divide
His name in Manganese
splinters under the paths
of the mastodon

Brings her orchestra
fixed to pitched agate
Her unwinding demolition
is in the saying

Her hunting grounds
break over seance bells
On oak and violin
floods

The unanswered
arrows
The advent
Her scherzo opens

Wolves balance
in the driving