and how shall I fare thee well, pale love

bare foot


pearling under stars a skin of shape


dropping here and there
a world made of rib bone white and yearning


in nets


weaving mulch and roan      and made


pale as questions
crying in stone


how shall I close now


that which has been opened
and misarranged


pour of stars           in a dusty solar system


in a not a world of
have and you