i contain the longing of embers
to transform themselves back into branches.

there is something like a bitter light
in the pupils of eyes
that have never shown tears.

i feel no reverence for the
chain of ants that raised the earth
only to erode it more or less slowly.

the midnight moon shows every bone
and all petty things on earth have turned into shadows.

sky and earth exchange silver.
the final rehearsal for all things, soundless.

the moon on the floor
lighting my feet--
no life can match this pure light

sometimes the woman in the mirror
hates me.

i have other eyes than the ones on my face--
eyes that see things (fleetingly)
that may or may not (actually)
be there.

i could (dye to)  become blonde
but i will never be a bombshell.
i talk tough
but the truth about me
is that i'm gentle
with a mystic will.

i thought (at one time) that you knew that.
you were a prelude
to nothing,

i am a prologue and an epilogue.

the wind wraps my heart in autumn,
yours is a grasshopper, always on the move.
i worshiped in your pillared hall
but the altar was empty.

between son and sun there is darkness.
some books hide rainbows in them
and some hide vipers and the dead.
my book is (a chronicle) of astronomy,
with a sunrise lighting up each dawn
on countless little planets.