She
feels satisfied.
For a moment
All of this is at her feet
—
And much can be learned.
For a moment
The actual day is
forcing itself
Through her door.
And the dry noon.
And
the eternal excisions.
If it was there
Isn't it true that
eventually
I or she would hear this knocking
Which otherwise
would be defined
On a Fortune-telling deck or cookie
As a
barely hearable gentle noise?
Here, someone is
turning.
Here, someone is lying awake.
Here, someone is
burning.
It would be useless to express it.
The mystique of
quality
Is the mystique of quantity
The buzzy
asides
Prophetic absence
O.K. — nurse-shells-oleander
The
deer, cholera, arcane
The busy slides
Signal, bee,
Gestaltist
Known since the Big War
Who controls the
specifics.
They are the weather patrol
And the waltz crew
—
Oh, don't sputter...
Les Halles
Les Mots
Bittersweet
reflections
Turbulance
Landing crew