Last bird, how cross you the distant boundary beyond light? In a circle of smoke I go uttering her name the last of the words: last splash of the high lake, lisp of the winter wind, words tail words, like water emptied in the river and lake retreating into the well beyond them rocks deep then into the heart of the earth such is her name, buried deep the unmarked borderland where I must end and She must begin incense-form fragrant her lips that smell of nameless a love seeping in across the vast, dark night; it is the shadow of hooded fear of being loved that I wake up to in my nightmares now I walk in the twilight retreating, that upon us the end of the day kissed of her tresses