blank spaces sharpen the same way a whetted blade would
   in a dull moment of assault;

the sky above me, I wished for, over in and caving for,
  a gun doing its own sinister deed

of shoving into the highlighted realm of some peace-distortion
  when it is done, I will hear laughter shearing

the wind with its beautiful imprint
  unless it was always darkness and just that – a place for passion

and so much of it in the middle of nothing, I cannot
  bid well into these frenzied moments of tense

stillness – when it is done
I will hear you laughing, screaming into the wind,

    a name,   *someone else’s