Nothing alive can keep us as we go.
The end loves all the doors that close away.
We may embody what we never know.

What does he have to give? No less space
than usual opens above him,
outward to the Van Allen Belts and beyond,

He has none, of course.
Appearing to carry one
in the specious recesses

There are hundreds of secret things
You should reveal; because when you
Repress one thing, it sets off

I am convinced of my true behavior —
How my impulse at certain times unfolds
like a hand limping over a rail road track;

Like dots before your eyes, the ships 
Roll in on the new tide and drop anchor. 
“They will go away,” you think. But later 

It was our favorite pastime, to be sure,
those hairs waiting to be split, those pieces
that passed understanding. We thought we'd find

Nothing Is Enough. Even
the Sky Is Unclear.

Can right words make the difference and, if so, what
shall we say? The day gives way to electric night,
the pastoral dies beside the human grove,

Urging our oxen toward the risen sun,
our stick plows stirring up the dust in waves,
also, in waves, we taste those words come back,

Of course,all day long it’s Gilgamesh wants
this, Gilgamesh wants that, and we scatter
through the city, beating ploughshares into