I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,

We, unaccustomed to courage exiles from delight live coiled in shells of lonelines… until love leaves its high holy te… and comes into our sight

There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win

FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,

I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry

She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing

You drink a bitter draught. I sip the tears your eyes fight to… A cup of lees, of henbane steeped… Your breast is hot, Your anger black and cold,

Her arms semaphore fat triangles, Pudgy hands bunched on layered hip… Where bones idle under years of fa… And lima beans. Her jowls shiver in accusation

The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.

A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,

Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press

Beloveds, now we know that we know… Without notice, our dear love can… In the instant that Michael is go… Though we are many, each of us is… Only when we confess our confusion…