Bald crows totter along the Sun's surfaces,
Thoughts darkly annotated, inside their night they hear
The rumble of our vibrations, storm-bright,
Stepping from Colchis over the black sea.
Winding streets of embodied eyes
Towers of sign pointing to words,
A cloud of dog-like force
Blasts like a wave into my weariness.
I sit in the shape of where you once breathed,
In the hole you carved in the air.
With golden gamelans you dropped blood upon the magnolias--
Read the hieroglyphics of the hen's scratching--
Under your eyelids I unburden light,
Hold pieces of brightness and bathe them in oil.
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