The first sinking dismay
she had in her humdrum life
was the first bongless time
when she heard herself cry.
The swallow of a muttered moan
following a stricken strife
like a shade hurtling the shadows,
a last dismaying gasp.
Where the zephyr in southerly arms die
where the nymph shrivels on a thirsty desire
where the Wheel crashes on a pallid meadow
where the plucked wings of the Dove fly?
Where the shadow of the bear downed stone
will dim my own umbra, eventide's gravedigger
brooding on a fractured glass? Lights' eyes queller
the lips' ballad subduer, ripper of the flock's strokes.
Your own stonewalling dismay is
double-crosser of a sea of dust chalk,
drowning feeble lying fireflies...
twinkling the sneers of your eclipse.
-Follow, follow her shadow
calling your own void from afar.
Where the wild lilacs the foggy crucify
where the stinging memory stirs dawdling desires
where a stabbing thought make the blurred red rock dance
dance in an **** between the answer and the why.