Steam in the pipes.
Birdsong muted.
A prowl of cat.

The sovereigns of the world are old,
and die without heirs.
Their sons die young behind guarded doors.

"Isn't it time I slipped my leash?"
         she thought.         For him, what was it?
A quickening. A corner he hadn't turned.

What do you make of that odd one by the door,
his silk top hat and greatcoat folded
neatly beside his chair, a sketchbook flapped

He labored above the impassable coast
where gulls hovered to their nests on rock,
shy youth worrying his dream-drenched songs.

Men kissing, men kissing men in a movie,
women kissing, kissing women in the next,
then men kissing women, then women, men,

The seascape shifts

Between the minutest interstices of time
Blue is blue.

Rock reproduces rock
In miniature
On rock

A door: 
             PER L’UNIVERSO 
                        is what it says 

Ranges
              of clinker heaps
                           go orange now: