someplace called  space,  in the sunken word of healing,
   like woodwork inched, thumbed down to the last utterance
    of prayer – someplace called      space,  a hermetic enclosure of sometimes
     words    of   fancy like,    sometimes love, most of  the time   hate,
   convoluted   as amaranth.   in  someplace  called   space  there are a number
   of  things  worth mentioning in enigmatic form.   sometimes   no words
      threaten nuances, and   sometimes  (it does)  silence  (a)  bounteous
        dullness   of (what I perceive to  be  a fabulation of  the word)  sense.

love shakes loose, light;  which twirls  in a cornerless  square often
     dreaming sidereal circle, which rotunds sidewind to such darkness that laps
up    this  sequence:   as  sea takes to  shore,    as   people who move (restlessly,
      tirelessly, senselessly)  through    space.