-
but falling into a liquid mirror
-
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last —
-
All weeds. I see it from the train, citybound, how the yuccas and chicory
-
Let us be unashamed of soul,
-
that runs along the lines, bright
-
and when the sun is out, we disappear.
-
pestling the unalterable
-
ghosts leave: retinal
-
So often I would itch
-
while the world tilts