At the back of the house, in bright
impermanence—conscious of being
not, but nearly, everything.

.

Barriers of green. When you have
all, why torment the depths? I'll
go. Sunburnt crater.

.

Before the laughter was heard, night
with its varied lights. Steal
out. Drink the cooling night.

.

Do not copy this wall, down
to the garden. I was faint. The lights
blinded me. I wanted the night.

.

First questions, signs not
from which quarter,
coming.

.

For a moment: empty. Abridging all
questions, until we reach all questions
cease. New tempo.

.

Immediately, eating it O in this
world, or one other—will you
(spins like fine gold) clamber over?

.

Into caressing shadows.
High walls, making possible high
wall, so precisely unrepeated.

.

Ivy-hung sculptured colonnade and
beyond. "As before a sepulchre."
Leap. Flesh tones like deity.

.

Not to be repeated. Near but un-
seen. Trickles and dances off.
Shadows of a shadowy pool.

.

Once again, endlessly, not
to be repeated. Unvanished if
substance. Into the voice.

.

Passion, breaking the orders it
so resembles. Darkness, like familiar
darkness, my lamented desert.

.

Poplars. Sycamores. Turpentine trees.
Circular benches of marble supported by
fabulous monsters. Imitation of a wood.

.

Sad at supper. Laughter always from
within. Here. Here. Hurry! Do
not be seen.

.

Soft strains enclose the garden.
Each sings through to the end.
Does not want us to yield blindly.

.

Stone floor in silver light, moon
playing also on the dancing rill. Stolen
sweets. Near the temple, overladen.

.

Stroll out upon the portico.
The very good we find or achieve seems
guilt toward some other world.

.

Such silence. Wind-driven
clouds. We collide with already
us. My life is full.

.

Summon the stranger. Silence of
apprehension. High wall, in constant
alteration, under the sun.

.

The voice you would prefer to
hear, where objects
disappear, as in a little window.

.

Thousands stand about the door, souls
walking in light, singing hymns of
night. Inconceivable unity.

.

Threads gathered up. Soaring toward
you or falling from you. Who
can begin again? Unravel.

.

To pass unrecognized toward your
hiding place, not sure what news
yawns in the same past.

.

Under a sense of sunlight about
to grant your desire.
You hear this madness?

.

Variations. Except, of
course, for slight—now
failing—reflections.

.

Whispered words, unspoken
thought. Loss of stern
ornament. In sleep, your heart:

.

You have not moved.

.