swell of silence
  and the wrest of stars,
o'er the river my heart sings cooly
against the face of the
        somnolent moon.

my heart is etched
in the sand and the dunes
tender on in the tense heat,
and underneath the bowl
  of the afternoon, the shadows
are stripped, shattered are they,
  mending to pieces;

i see here clearly yet no sign
  of you. birds are ailing in the
distance, the boulangerie of clouds
   and the automaton trees,
  yet no you, neither an espy of you nor
     a spry child hiding behind
a flower,
      still no image of you
  here, i go mazy now, into the
   fleet of hurdled moments.