Bands of distracted emotions snap getting
wider as daytime colors sink and roll on their
sides. 

Such a flow of language!

She is a neighbor too,
and I am getting there

It’s a socket—I don’t know how,
but you soon learn to count millions into that province

To no longer perform in broad daylight,
the apple's a radish for it,
the winter chill a living thing.

I wonder if they’ve really caught the scent,
which is a poor memory in our Symbolist ears

These are the same stairs, unnoticed, essential,
submerged in shadow bath; and that is the same
queen's-blood carpet, embracing the floor and chairs

Take that hand away, the hand
washing like small warm stones along my neck

There’s a donkey standing in the doorway,

Check yellow. It must be kept for the center
of flowers and
other intense moments, not

The difficulties, in passion,
are not news: the knot at the throat,
the lipstick that smears, the skirt