.
I make my way into the shroud,
To wrap my heart with air and bone,
Watching the skies for a different way
And every turn is made of stone.
I listen for the sound of a hushed leaf,
Falling in eddies that twist and jar
Only to dry and drift, teasing away,
For this is the time for old foundations,
In stepping line for sandy beaches parade
Of wind and vein, set to blaze, cold refrain,
With night accord and smoking whisper,
For love gleams in a painted bottle of dust
I cannot rub, the heart twines, shores,
In others I see floating but know not,
With creeping time, accord I am keeping
My dates so glazed, sharply knotched
In telling tales to hemlock and oak
By world of darkening clouds make,
Dreams indifferent as the sun,
Colours of joy I cannot hear.