Piece by piece I seem
to re-enter the world: I first began

a small, fixed dot, I still can see

Their dream decelerates our spinning planet
one millimeter-per-second per century
until they have matched velocity with us

There is less and less difference
between your shadow
and the shadow inside you

They return in desirable colors of the season,
whether casually or stupidly, to simplify the garden
of its sweetest shoots and tips, though I have set out

It is possible that he is not a boy at all?
By this I mean, or meant last night with the noise
keeping me up as it does these days, I'm foggy

The bread and the candle: pale leftovers
         from the last milling, the last box of singular suns.

There will be no more questions, no more serving you at sundown.

But this is not the field the soldiers took with so few losses.
   Prophets never stop
beside the well sprung from the garden hose. A snake has

Adam and Eve preferred the Tree of Good
and Evil to the fruits of infinity,
says Edward Dahlberg. Gustav Janouch observes

Everything springs from nothing, then is thrust,
face forward, to infinity, declared
Pascal. To get to know the infinite,

What will be the last book
I read? Woolf s finest work,
the only one I shunned?