At irregular intervals
I take a long pole
and turn the
sightless eyes
to sun

Unplug nerveless nostril
to unwitness fresh
pine

Bare gummy mouth
to taste the
crystal stream.

Those boon companions
bear no fault that
they died to the world

And have no clue
why the mountain grew
the star fell

(though to us she burns
bright in her long
extinguished firmament)

They never felt
vulcanised veins nor
systematic surges of love.

Flotsam, jetsam,
washed up on the tide