everything I will say I have said already still again the
arcades the dust the light to be built by the bottle the box
I will say saucer I have said everything I will say
•
The accumulation of transparent planes brims with ashes in
a cup reducible to rain running from the awnings of arcades a
girl carrying a pitcher of water through half-dark dust stirred
by the bulk of her skirt suspends I can still reach toward
that past saying "snarl of sun" I opened and closed the door
of a telephone booth watching the coil redden and dim I saw
your street in a photograph a tangle of black thread crossed
out
•
Your tongue is a letter I have not written in days it took
all day to load the trees with silence the street with quartz
the lamp carves a semicircle from the wall distance again
cleaves (the mirror, etc) light again from dark between which
the dust settles uniformly I have been talking to you now
for two days at a time I will try not to think about
swallowing my tongue