to hear it sing is to hear it sting where the sun shines
how it's never so real        till it bleeds
through the sundial
like a red fog under
adorable prisons.
it Is what It isn't...  it has needs, you hear it wing through fallow stars on the edge
where there's never been Spring.
to hear it means
to be undone beside the tide pool... in the twinkling of two minds
how it's never so real       till it dreams
mute and  undefiled
like a red god under
house arrest for no reason.
it Is what It isn't... it must be lonely. you're very near it, and it's apples and sacrilege
where there's ever been Holy
such sins have beauty.

it must be lonely...

( my )                                                                 darling

and some thing after

[ It ]

surely