[ trees determination to go
walking would take me
trees
determination to go walking would take me
mild
like a gong . one image tells another
seeking
here as figures in the terrain . periods
promised
renaissance by way of a shroud (without
a loom
& the sun weaves the night
music
lost to the felt of cold torques
what was
that like? The long answers occupy
a hole
in their inner skin, cryptic weaving
desired
identities: No one. Who knows what love
dis-guards
from that subtitled moan of morning
