I front my dust, to taste the rosy

cud of lightning's fever dream.

As a vine strikes out against a wall,

the whole of wind is removed from

the mouth of silence.

While bodies of water gloss over

the passing of fish, who become

tense.

When flesh is left on bodies to

indicate taken seats, the same seats

light gives up.

To a garden gate drunk on its hinge--

that gathers a garden like: here today.

Where midnight makes up for lost time,

to meet you as someone known

completely.

Followed by savage denial of the fact.