What’s missing is the body, its nakedness wrapped
in marble. What’s missing is the hair, the floating hair
that falls in chalky tendrils. Only the face, huge

Narcissus was finally released, though sentenced
by demonic pardon to wander the ends of earth
searching for her. In southern Arizona, he heard

Five is the sum of this world figured by the senses,
and the tally of the planets to the naked eye,
four directions with one person wandering at the pivot.

Black bars expanding
      over an atomic-yellow ground — feelers retracted —
the monarch lay flat on the street

The ridge road takes the ridgespine every way
It turns. It threads the granite venebrae
And old. wind-dwarfed ponderosas that twist

are any houses. That’s for sure. And as for
cars, trucks, tractors, trailers, motorcycles,
you’re in another universe, friend. At most

On the chine of the first white inkling of the winter
The Ravenmaster wraps his limbs in combs of wind.

It is November; the tower closes down

They burned our witch last Tuesday, so sad
to watch her go up like a puff of smoke,
the pale ash excited into air

The prince is waving good-bye. Good-bye Prince,
we shout as he ascends the steps of his coach,
Good-bye! Then he is gone with a contagion

Until the lid is on the box
the box we are is open
except when it’s not