Then what’s left is not enough to live on. There are fires breaking out in the valleys beneath The house, locusts in the fields. For days, There is longing like nothing else; for Weeks, prohibitions against change of any kind. So you remain out of order, falling from the Heights…

Before the summoning of countless worlds — A last fall in the obsolescence of sleep. You were Showered in repressions and denials: new and disjunctive Processes emerged from underground and swallowed You like Jonah in the whale. You were traced to nowhere And thereby assumed to be dead. You were…

Some new constellation, which encroaches on Reason. Symbiosis with what was already You, in A fragmented sort of way. Epiphanic, strange — Like light from another room in another time, Leaking in. No choosing of despair. No choosing At all.

So it is with the frantic vanishing of things. Late into the escapade you wondered why you felt this Way and how. The trees and the deer outside were Not listening. Dispelled myths and abjured dreams. Constantly creating what you cannot understand. Constantly motioning for signs of change.

You were walking backwards into the strength Of somebody else’s poem, all while you were not looking. The trees were the color of the houses, the houses The color of the planets. Somebody was listening but you Did not know who. The withdraw of first things meant the Inrush of…

It was only in the frenzy of an unheard of Night that I heard you singing the end of God’s life. In the private language of hopelessness, all of us were Equally blind, all of us possessive of the same lack Of knowing. So I culled you, pulled you close.

How, I, in taking you apart diminished myself was beyond me. And yet tamed and merciful I sit here listening. Situation After situation unfolds without choice. The drugged forests Have been cut down, the trees dismembered, and we peopled The raw fields with our own image.

Pieces of the hereafter drifted into view. You cut them up Further, scattered them despairingly across the way. We Felt there was no further answer — unable or unwilling to see. The constellations looked like a storm and I was no closer To them than I was when we began.

You were secretly enamored With the split backbone of the sex and Centuries and the love hereafter of feeling alive. She brushed the clouds and the earth stopped its tumult. I climbed a ladder to nowhere. And somehow, Sorrow was not the experience of falling away. I knew what You…