lie across the taurobolium
at the motherless spring
without feeling, without breath;
pale mulberries infiltrate the wind
in ice dark of obscured dreams
by the sea-green void, vanishing by the surf,
as the fresh dew slumbers in the whiteness of morning
exorcised with twigs of the dying trees.
flicker with the nightly, strange sea,
the augur bleeds madly onto the sand
behind the betrayed fog mire
these helpless longings, starved in the droplets of mist
in the solitude of each shadow that breaks each rock and stone
broken in its place like a fallen leaf lifeless in the stretch of dreaming,
expanded in the tarry blue in ancient loss, what it truly means to grieve,
shivering god-like, shivering emerging from a cocoon;
the robin’s nest is naked, violently absent, as it shutters across the viaducts,
blending with the past—the secrecy having gone, tormenting a breath
in the dark snow, a wound in the interstices, each winter returning
disappearing in another’s cruelty, remembrance; rejecting the kiss upon flesh
the wind retreats upon you, waving a leaf, the dance of a prelude in a whispering fear,
the world dreaming.
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