when the sky blackens,
and the full moon brightly rears
its white bald head,
their words resound in my ears
from ghost-mouths and artful
tongues which, like thorny roses,

bloom and snag.
darkness shepherds them in.
and now, in solitude, under the charm
of somnolent night,
words cease to be words alone—
they are life in a breath.
they are lips and teeth
and tongue and cheek,
skin, blood, and bone.