I remember sunday called by girl's names
then saturday and her dreams
the false impressions I came to believe
sat on burning bushes
made wine of water
imagined
heavens overflow
on a count of three
there I sat beside the brook divining
contemplating
playing blind man's bluff
as the ripples
resided
ebbed
the flow went round
the count got all the way up to
ten
i was asleep
and then awake
listened
to the water
the ebb and flow
the countenance
of the dead
and living saints
and heard only
a blank nothingness