Soil, like velvet
black and charged
claim the footfalls of
a steady steed

Of muscle worn
and waxed, the mask
of thin skin

Down, down the jam
jar of innocence
The vagabond of
rich intention and
subdued space

Enveloping, coiling,
the bursting of birth
posed and poised

of a faded nebula, a
dying sun.

In the night hour, hills
he descended, like white
elephants
burned a trail of flox
when all were waking
and heavy breathing.