then the hour of
clarity comes so the blind man can see what it is he has come to save what it is he has come to ruin for solitude
to stay its course as hands unfold onto dreamless opacity
in these lower hills may night birds keep breaking our bread of desolation with swift songs
of blazing stars consumed infernos
voice itself is the stranger it speaks to you in words you cannot understand speaks as you stand in the herb speaks with the tall herb too with wandering pollens this year’s that year's unbesought unbeseeched
contentment with this doubt all to cinder reduces but dissolve itself cannot still some sleep ahead parted equally in days and nights what comes after is of no concern may what comes after keep coming part of the howls you hear goes to fill empty spaces part we do not know dogs tire of barking into silence night relapses
i offer you what resistance i have
for you consent to dig deeper into me
in your nearness sleep
shuffle of change resounds no more
wish to be burdened with heavier fruit
branches stretch out bare in the cold
flow of your sap stiffens the roots
where are we heading in this dark
why is the wind harsh on me
blowing out the ashes’ glow
before i take heart to the woods
in this roar nights many and days successively slumber reawaken it floods and flows back beyond your questioning words not opening not emerging from silence their retreat perhaps a sign distances growwithin wherein you raise wherein you fade growing too with enclosures walls moss caking stones of wells paddies lavishly swaying your questioning blind