I saw the winter clouds moving across the
roof of the greenhouse and I hid under the
an air face looked down upon us.
masses of brilliant kites drifted like
a myth over the glass. Sometimes I think
I am a mummy of space floating in
the tomb of a new daydream.
in all transparent cathedrals where
a bird of paradise is sequestered,
great curtains are drawn over consciousness;
yet, our bodies crash upon them, fall
through these roofs into the warmth, into the
moist leaves and blossoms, into the thick dense
I am One of Them
women go round and
round the mouth of nerves;

their sunshine man with his world of
impulses runs up the side of a hill.

on land,
the prevailing spring is one continuous grey building

the briars collapse and I walk out on the
ice that is breaking up in the river.

it is a bleached field,

an enormous bewitchment smuggled out of time.

who will know? who will know that I
think of you out there and that

I am wild with urges and wolves.