where i go
cuts the loneliest melody
of this inner twilight.

it is where hands cease
to reach for certain things
and ****** only
what is immense in nearness,

and that is
a memory.
it is a pain imagined -
constantly shining light
into its clutched darkness
and releases from its hand,
the birds of dawn - these words;
or gently sways the perennial trees
with the verdure of its spoken
word and its unimpeachable sensation burning through leaves
like the sun's peak biting off
a trace of a leaf's inflorescence,
or that somewhere i,
together in the gathered silence,
   fathers an intimation
and comes back after
    each toppled song,

to the world and its formless manifests.